Diary of a Nerd
by Crystalbluu
Summary: Gabriella is a wallflower within the walls of East High. However, her perspective on Troy Bolton, the popular jock, changes when she is assigned to tutor him. Read Gabriella's diary to find out what happens and how the rest of the school will react.
1. Chapter 1

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 12:04 AM.

Okay, so I've always had this problem with holding all of my feelings inside until they bubble over, just like Chad Danforth's chemistry labs. No, wait. I lied. Chad's projects usually explode, not bubble over. But, well, I'm sure you get the point. Danforth's just some jock that doesn't know I exist, so whatever. Oh, I'm Gabriella, by the way. Gabriella Montez. So, anyway . . . Moving on.

The reason I bought this diary was not because it had a cute matching pen (which broke after I tried to pull the top off when it was the kind that twisted) or because it was red, my favorite color. No, I bought it so I'd have something to write my emotions down on, to have someone (even if that someone is an inanimate object) to explain my problems to. And believe me; I have a _lot_ of problems.

Take this afternoon, for example. I was eating lunch with my friends in East High's cafeteria. I had my usual: A turkey sandwich with no mustard, a diet coke, and one of those really good chocolate-chip cookies that cries out to you, "Buy me and my chocolaty goodness!" I had finished eating and announced to my friends, Taylor McKessie, Kelsi Nielsen, and a few other Scholastic decathlon members, that I was going to go use the restroom. And, well, I'm not going to explain to you what I did in the bathroom because, c'mon, it's obvious. So, anyway, I returned to the cafeteria and sat down at the table. But there was a problem. Yes, this is the problem I mentioned above.

When I looked up, I did not see the faces of my friends. No, I was greeted with the faces of the basketball team, each boy gaping at me like I had a third arm protruding from my forehead, or something. Great, right? Just grand. Not only did I blush beet red, but I mumbled something incoherently and fled from the table. As if the basketball team doesn't think I'm a geek already. Wait, scratch that. They don't even acknowledge me most of the time. And to be perfectly honest with myself, I can kind of understand why.

You see, East high is practically run by the Basketball team and their varsity captain, Troy Bolton. And, to give you an insight to what people think of Troy, here's a conversation I hear almost every single day from the cheerleaders:

Cheerleader number one C1

Cheerleader number two C2

C1: "Oh, my God, Becky! You will never, ever guess what happened today."

C2: "Like, what happened, Sharon?"

C1: "Troy _looked_ at me in Homeroom. Actually glanced at me with his gorgeous, blue eyes!"

C2: (Hyperventilating) "No, way. No, way! You are soooo lucky, Sharon! He is like, the definition of hot!"

C1: "I know. And if this keeps up, maybe next week he'll ask to borrow my pencil!"

Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little. But still. You get the fact that Troy is east High's man-god. And when you're a god, you only notice important people. So for a basketball player, an important person is the girl with the biggest breasts and shortest skirt. Me on the other hand, well, lets just say I'm not considered important to the Basketball team. Specifically it's captain. I don't slather my face with make-up every morning, I wear jeans more often then skimpy skirts, and I spend most of my time studying. This also means I have to wear my reading glasses most of the time, because I'm always reading. I'm not exactly the epiphany of a dork; I'm just what one would call a wallflower.

Not that I mind, though. I'd much rather go unnoticed by the so called 'popular' crowd than be a slut. Because even though Troy is inhumanly good-looking, if I have to be something I don't want to be, he's not worth it. Not that I like him, or anything. And so, I hereby make a promise to always stay true to myself. No matter what.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 12:56 AM.

Even if Troy's eyes are the bluest I have ever seen.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 1:13 AM.

And his golden hair, too.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 1:20 AM.

Just went back and re-read my last two entries. I must be tired, or something. Troy Bolton is an egotistical idiot who ignores everyone except the popular crowd. I do not like him at all. Not even a smidge.

Okay, I will admit that he is hot. That is the only respect in which I am like the cheerleaders.

But he's still a jerk!

September 25, 2007. Homeroom, 8:15 AM.

Well, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed once again this morning. At least it's Friday, though. I'll have the entire weekend to just lie in bed and watch movies with Taylor. Okay, fine, we'll probably do homework. I'm sorry that I'm such a grade-obsessed freak. Oh, look. Troy and Chad just walked in. Hmm, they just sat down two seats in front of me. Great, now Chad's hair will block my view of the board. And why does he always have a basketball with him? Does he suffer some sort of weird shock syndrome when he doesn't hold it in his grubby paws?

Oh, Taylor just walked in. Wait. Did that just happen? Oh, my gosh! It did, it totally did! At least, I think it did. I'm not exactly skilled in the flirting department, not having had anyone flirt with me before, but if I'm not mistaken, Danforth just checked Taylor out!

Ha, she didn't even notice. She just came up, sat down next to me and went, "Morning, Gabriella."

'Morning, Gabriella?' That's not what you say when a basketball player checks you out. I mean, I completely saw Chad's eyes roam up and down her body, almost like he was . . . Memorizing her curves, or something. Okay, that came out perverted. But, really. If Chad Danforth checks you out and even grins a little afterward, I'm sure the said person would at least shriek with happiness. But not Taylor. No, no, no.

She just asked me why I had a shocked expression on my face. Pshh, if only she knew. She's taking all her school supplies out right now, without a clue that Chad is still kind of looking at her. Am I missing something, here? I mean, is he only looking at her because she has food on her face, or something?

Okay, I just glanced at her and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. On the contrary, she looks pretty today. Jeeze. I hope Taylor won't up and ditch me for Chad. She will not be converted to the dark side!

Notes: English

Depending on the type of object they take, verbs may be transitive, intransitive, or linking.

The meaning of a **transitive verb** is incomplete without a direct object, as in the following examples:

**INCOMPLETE**

The shelf **holds**.

**COMPLETE**

The shelf **holds** three books and a vase of flowers.

September 25, 2007. History Class, 11:23 AM.

Maybe something happened yesterday that caused Chad to become mentally ill. Maybe he's just a very sick person and does not realize what he's doing, or more specifically, who he's checking out. I should give him some flowers, or whatever. Even if he won't know who the heck Gabriella Montez is. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

Yippee! Mr. Lawrence, the history teacher, is handing back the tests we took last week. Ooh, I didn't do that bad. A ninety-one is still an 'a', right? I mean, it may be low, but it's still good. Am I right? Well, the bell just rang. Time for my sandwich.

September 25, 2007. Cafeteria Table, 12:01 PM.

Okay. That's all I have to say right now. Just . . . Okay. I was just stepping out of the door when Mr. Lawrence called, "Miss Montez, Mr. Bolton? Please stay behind, I need a quick word.

At first I was like, oh, great. What is it that I did? He's going to tell me I'm failing out of his class, isn't he. He's going to tell me that my ninety-one wasn't good enough for him. But he didn't.

Troy and I just kind of turned back around, and, because Troy was already out the door, he had to walk past me to get back inside. I got a whiff of his famous cologne, which, for some reason, seemed to calm my nerves. But, anyway. We stood in front of Mr. Lawrence's desk and he said, "Mr. Bolton, we need to discuss your current grade."

Whoa. So maybe it wasn't my grade that was in jeopardy, but rather Troy's. Talk about a reverse in the situation.

"You're border-line'd'," Mr. Lawrence continued. I couldn't help but wonder why I was standing in there, listening to Troy's bad news. "And, because I've seen you have all 'a's in your other classes, I've decided that you need a tutor."

Troy just kind of stood there nodding. I don't think he even noticed me until Mr. Lawrence went, "Miss Montez, here, has the highest grade-point average in the class. She will be your tutor until I see an improvement."

Yeah . . . I know, right? I did not see that coming, at all. Troy turned to me with a raised eyebrow. I could tell it was probably a shock to him that I had a name.

"Uh," Troy said. "Is that really necessary?"

Wow, thanks, Bolton. I know I'm a geek, but really.

"You and Miss Montez will meet everyday after school for an hour and a half to study," Mr. Lawrence stated, ignoring troy's previous comment completely.

Troy looked flabbergasted. "But, sir! What about basketball practice?"

"Then afterwards."

Here's where I finally said something. I knew for a fact that Troy's basketball practice went from 2:30 to 4:30, and my bus home left at 3:00 o'clock.

"Um," I said quietly. "My bus -- "

But apparently Mr. Lawrence had better things to do than to stick around and listen to the wallflower with the best grade in his class. "I'll be checking up on you two," he said, interrupting me before leaving the classroom.

"Uh," I started, gazing at the space where Mr. Lawrence had sat only two minutes before. "I guess I can tutor you after your practice ends."

Troy just kind of looked at me with his blue eyes. I have to say it was very uncomfortable. Then he said, "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Um, who's the person who's giving up their ride home to wait TWO hours to tutor his ungrateful butt? Me, that's who!

"Okay, so I'll just . . . Meet you in the library at 4:45. Does that give you enough time to, I don't know, change and gather your stuff?" I am way to nice. What is wrong with me?

He nodded again, and left me standing in the classroom like an idiot. Why do I always get stuck in these situations, anyway? It's like I'm just this big magnet that attracts trouble. I need to demagnetize myself. I need to un-charge my ions.

September 25, 2007. My bedroom, 9:12 PM.

I cannot even begin to describe how tired I am right now. This has been like, the longest day in history. Okay, maybe not. But it certainly _felt_ like it was.

I was at the Library about an hour early. Partly because I had nothing better to do and partly because I wanted to figure out what I was going to teach Troy for the next hour and a half.

Being the dork that I am, I didn't; even notice how fats the time flew by until I saw Troy heading over to the table I occupied. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken recently, and he, like Chad always did, was carrying a basketball.

"Erm," I said awkwardly as he sat down in the chair the way all the jocks do: with the chair flipped around backwards and the back of the seat between his legs. "Hi."

When Troy didn't say anything, I passed him hand-written quiz that I had carefully been concocting for the past hour or so. "I want you to take this quiz so that I can figure out your weaknesses and what we need to work on," I continued.

He just looked at me like I was stupid, or something. "I don't have a pencil," he said simply.

Trust Troy to have a basketball with him and not the means to write with when he went to a tutoring session. I tried not to laugh at him, and shielded my face by leaning over to pull my pencil case out of my school bag. After handing him my mechanical pencil and an eraser, I beckoned for him to begin the test.

He moved steadily through the questions for the next fifteen minutes. I was just thinking, 'This isn't so bad.' when I noticed Troy was silently flirting with a cheerleader a few tables over.

First of all, why there was a cheerleader in the library is beyond me. Second of all, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFGFICULT?

"Um, Troy?" I asked hesitantly. "Maybe you'd do better in History if you paid more attention to the material and less attention to girls."

His head snapped back to me, and he sort of glared. Ha, like it was my fault he was failing history class.

"Maybe if you stopped paying so much attention to your studies, you'd have friends." he said, rather cruelly in my opinion.

I mean, I have friends. Lots of friends, in fact. This is exactly what I told him, too.

"Montez," Troy said, and I was surprised he remembered my name. "I meant friends who are guys. You know, like a boyfriend?"

At this I blushed. Why I did, I have no idea. Just because I haven't had a boyfriend yet doesn't mean I never will. Besides, most relationships that start in high school don't even last, so what's the point?

"Well, maybe I want a long term relationship and not some random make-out like you always have."

Where that came form, I have no clue. I was actually talking back to Troy Bolton. And to be honest, a part of me liked it.

Troy frowned and made a weird noise. "You've got some nerve, nerd."

The fact that he called me a nerd to my face really got to me. I can stand a person ignoring me, but insulting is a completely different concept. And here I was, trying to help him improve his history grade without any reward for myself.

"I'm the nerd who's helping you, Bolton," I replied just as strongly as he had. "And if you're not going to pay attention to what I have to teach, then maybe we'll have to find some other place to go. A place where nothing will distract you."

Troy huffed, and crossed his arms. For some reason I noticed how cute he looked with his hair falling into his narrowed eyes. I really am a freak.

"Fine, then. Next time we'll go to my house."

Go to Troy Bolton's house? No that was interesting. Just about everyone except for the decathlon team and I has been to Troy's house at least once before on account of all the parties he was always throwing. I'm talking about those parties where people get drunk, sleep with each other, and blah, blah, blah.

"Whatever it takes to get you focused," I finally said.

For the remainder of the tutoring, Troy just sat and finished his test while I kept a close eye on him. When he finally finished, the time period was up.

"Okay," I said, as I tucked his finished quiz into a folder. "I'll just meet you at your house tomorrow, then."

Troy shrugged, not even bothering to look me in the eye. "Whatever, Montez. Later."

And with that he had left me for the second time that day to stand by myself. Why I still think he's hot . . I don't know.


	2. Chapter 2

September 25, My bedroom. 10:33, PM

Just now realized that today is Friday. I must have sounded like an idiot when I told Troy I'd see him tomorrow. Great. I even graded his quiz and everything so I'd have it complete. He actually failed it. Seriously, he got 6 out of 25 correct. I thought he was smart, too! Oh, wait a minute. Taylor just sent me an instant message.

**Decathlongrrl: Hey, Gabriella, what's up?**

I still can't believe she doesn't know about Chad. I mean, I just found out this morning. He could have been checking her out for days, weeks, even.

**Chem-briella: Not much. Just doing hw. **

**Decathlongrrl: Oh. Listen, I overheard an interesting conversation today.**

**Chem-briella: Okay . . .**

**Decathlongrrl: Is it true you're tutoring Bolton?**

Aw, crud. I'd hoped that wouldn't get out. Thanks a lot, Troy.

**Chem-briella: Yes, for History. Why?**

**Decathlongrrl: I heard him telling Chad something about you.**

**Chem-briella: What'd he say??????**

**Decathlongrrl: Well, his exact wording was, "That Montez girl is strange."**

Hmm, that's not so bad. I myself know I'm 'outside-the-box' material. It's actually a shock to me that he even decided to mention me to Danforth. I'm worth mentioning!

**Decathlongrrl: . . . Gabriella? U there?**

**Chem-briella: Yea, sorry. Wait, why were you hanging around Chad and Troy today, anyway?**

**Decathlongrrl: No reason. I just overheard their conversation, is all.**

**Chem-briella: Taylor, seriously. Chad and Troy usually hang out in the gym.**

**Decathlongrrl: oops, sorry Gabriella. G2g. **

**Chem-briella: TAYLOR!**

_**Decathlongrrl has signed off at 10:43:22.**_

Well, that was beyond odd. There is obviously something she isn't telling me. That and the fact Chad checked her out today. Oi, I need to relax. This is definitely not good for my system.

September 26, 2007. My kitchen, 11:34 AM.

Well, my mom basically just informed me that she's going to be gone on a business trip for the rest of the weekend. Seriously, she isn't getting back until late Sunday evening or early Monday morning. This just sucks. What am I supposed to do the entire weekend? Kelsi's at some piano recital downtown until Sunday, and Taylor just informed me that she was 'busy', or something. Whatever. I'll probably just -- Oh, hang, on. The phone is ringing.

Oh. My. Gosh. I can't believe what just happened. Mr. Lawrence just called. Me. He called me. At my house. On a freaking Saturday. This is, well . . . New. Here's our conversation:

**Me: Hello?**

**Mr. Lawrence: Hello, this is Mr. Lawrence, a History teacher from East High School. Would it be possible to speak with Gabriella Montez?**

**Me: . . . .**

**Mr. Lawrence: I'm sorry, is this the incorrect phone number?**

**Me: Um, this is she. I'm Gabriella Montez.**

**Mr. Lawrence: Oh, hello Miss. Montez. I'm calling on behalf of your tutoring session with Mr. Bolton this past Friday.**

**Me: You mean yesterday?**

**Mr. Lawrence: Precisely.**

Who in this world says, "This past Friday," anyway. What is this, the 19th century? YESTERDAY. Jeeze.

**Me: Okay.**

**Mr. Lawrence: I have just added Mr. Bolton's most recent test grade, and it happened to bring his average down to failing. **

**Me: Failing?!**

**Mr. Lawrence: Yes. And so, I have decided to offer you extra credit points if you were to tutor him on the weekends as well as the weekdays. Our quarter final is coming up, and Mr. Bolton will need as much help as he can get.**

**Me: Extra credit?**

Why did he have to offer extra credit, anyway? Had it not been for that, it would have been incredibly easy to just say, "No!" But I just has to say yes, didn't I? What is wrong with me, anyway? Now not only do I have to tutor Bolton every day of the week, but now I have to call him up and inform him myself. I swear, this is just not my day.

Hmm, maybe I don't have to call him. Maybe I can instant message him instead. That would be so much easier. I'll go get the student guide.

Ha! It so figures:

**Name: Troy A. Bolton**

**Grade: 11**

**Age: 17**

**Home phone number: 353-0799**

**Cell phone number: **_**Not Provided**_

**AIM Screen name: CaptnTB14**

**Personal Interests: Basketball, cheerleaders, hanging with friends**

Wow. I'm speechless. Well, not really. His screen name is so predictable. I mean, seriously? Duh, he's the basketball captain. Duh, his initials are 'T' and 'B'. And duh, his jersey number is fourteen. Oh, my gosh, I'm just wasting time. I guess there's nothing else for me to do except to . . . Instant message him. Aw, crud. Hang on a second.

Okay, he's online. Here it goes . . .

**Chem-briella: Troy?**

**CaptnTB14: . . . Who is this?**

**Chem-briella: Um, it's Gabriella Montez.**

**CaptnTB14: Montez? How did u get my sn?**

**Chem-briella: Student guide.**

**CaptnTB14: O, right. Wat do u want?**

**Chem-briella: Well, I got a call from Mr. Lawrence. He said something about you needing more tutoring than he originally thought. **

**CaptnTB14: No, I'm talking to that geeky Montez girl. U know, the one who's tutoring me? I think she's stalking me, or something.**

**Chem-briella: What?!**

Wow. Did he really just do that? He thinks I'm stalking him, too. This kind of thing would only happen to me, gosh darn it.

**CaptnTB14: oops. Srry, that was supposed to g2 Chad. **

'Sorry, that was supposed to go to Chad.' Oh, please. He's such a jerk, I don't even know why I thought he was cute. What makes things worse is the fact that he isn't even slightly embarrassed about sending that instant message to me instead of Chad. Idiot.

**Chem-briella: Look, I have to tutor you every day of the week, now. Is there any way you are free today?**

No, Gabi! Say he's a freak! A jerk! An ass- no! I will not resort to swearing just because some ignorant jock is mean.

**CaptnTB14: r u serious? Aw, shit.**

See? I don't want to sound like this miscreant.

**Chem-briella: So, are you free?**

**CaptnTB14: I'm not free till 9.**

Nine????? At night? What the heck does he do all day? Making out with girls should only take . . . Well, I don't know. Uh, I'm such a dork.

**Chem-briella: Well, that's fine. Where do you live?**

It's been ten minutes. He's probably telling Chad all the weird things I've said to him. Great.

**Chem-briella: Hello??**

**CaptnTB14: 3245 Lindman Street**

**Chem-briella: Thanks!**

_**CaptnTB14 is not available right now.**_

He blocked me. HE BLOCKED ME! Who is the person willingly giving up her time to teach his sorry butt? Oh, and I just looked Troy's address up on Mapquest. Guess what? It's a six mile walk to his house. Oh, goody gumdrops!

September 26, 2007. My bedroom, 7:22 PM.

Well, I have to leave for Bolton's house soon seeing as it's going to take me around an hour and one half to get there. Oh, gosh, and I'm going to have to walk there every single day. I swear, as soon as I find the time to get my license, I'm buying myself a car . . . Even if it means no complete set of World Encyclopedias.

Aw, crud. It's 7:30, so I'd better get going.

September 27, 2007. My bedroom, 1:03 AM.

I'm so tired right now, but I really want to get this all down before I forget anything. Because, I mean, wow. That is the only word that can describe what has happened for the past few hours. So here's what happened:

I finally got to the Bolton Home after my lovely hour walk. And, okay, so I said I was leaving around 7:30, but then I noticed that my bed was unmade and that my bookshelf was unorganized. So, yeah. I just _had_ to fix that. But, anyway.

The Bolton home, by the way, can hardly be described as a home. I mean, I thought my house was a fair size. But, no. Not compared to the Bolton _Estate_. I swear, one would think that because his dad is just a gym teacher that they wouldn't be able to afford a house that has it's own gate with the letter 'B' crafted onto the iron. Seriously. A gate. And then there was this huge driveway that wrapped around in a circle as if you were stopping off at a hotel, or something. I half expected there to be security cameras in the flawless, green lawn.

By the time I finally reached the sky-high double doors that were the entrance to the mansion, a huge door knocker shaped like a wildcat's head greeted me. It figures. And then, after I had used the doorbell (The knocker scared me!) I was greeted by a woman with blonde hair who was wearing jeans and a stylish, knit top. At first I thought it would be a maid, but then I noticed a familiar pair of startlingly blue eyes.

"Hello, there," the woman said kindly. "You must be Troy's tutor."

I nodded, shifting the shoulder straps of my backpack. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Gabriella Montez." Then I held out a hand to which the woman shook gently.

"Oh, please, Gabriella. 'Ma'am' makes me sound so old. Feel free to call me Mrs. Bolton, or even better Cathy."

Calling her Cathy seemed rather awkward, so when Mrs. Bolton ushered me inside, I went, "Thank you, Mrs. Bolton."

She showed me through the beautiful house which consisted of marble, luxurious wood, and lovely works of art. "Troy isn't home yet, but I'm sure he'll be arriving shortly."

Great, right? Talk about an awkward situation. Here I was, sitting in a living room taking to the mother of some jerk at school who hates me. Heck, she probably doesn't even know about Troy's and my relationship.

"Um, okay," was all I could think of to say. What else was there _to_ say? I wanted to say 'Oh, I don't really care when your son gets here. It's not like I don't have anything better to do than sit here waiting for him, or anything.' But that didn't seem appropriate, so instead I said it in my head. Hehe.

"Would you like anything to drink? Water, a soda, maybe a virgin margarita?" Mrs. Bolton asked kindly. A virgin margarita? Are you freaking kidding me? Seriously?

I shrugged, studying how nice the tassels hanging off of the decorative pillows on the couch were. "Water would be fine, thanks."

Mrs. Bolton walked over to a bar on the other side of the room, but continued to talk. "I can't tell you how nice it is that you're helping Troy. History was never his strong suite."

I'll say.

"This is actually the first time I've seen Troy invite a nice girl over instead of one of those cheerleaders he seems so intent on being with," she continued, dropping some ice into a glass.

Whoa, wait a minute. Troy didn't invite me over, Mr. Lawrence practically forced me over. In fact, had it not been for Troy's short attention span, maybe we could be doing this in the public library, or something.

"Oh," I said quietly. If only she knew.

Mrs. Bolton sat back down, handing me a glass of ice water. "Hopefully you can talk some sense into him, eh?" And then she winked.

Seriously, she winked, like she wanted me to . . . To romance her son, or something. Well I have something to tell you, all Troy has going for him is basketball. And his good looks. And -- never mind. I should shut up, now.

Instead of replying to that rather suggestive comment, I nodded and took a sip of the water. That was when the sound of a door slamming broke the awkward silence.

"Mom, I'm home!" Troy shouted, and he walked into the living room, starting to shrug his jacket off his shoulders. "I wanted to--" He had looked up and seen me sitting across from his mother. "What are you doing here?"

Well, that was rude. Apparently his mother thought so too, because she frowned at her son. "Troy, aren't you going to greet your guest?"

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, and continued to shed his jacket, leaving it on the edge of the couch. "Hi," he eventually said, though rather reluctantly in my opinion.

I set my water glass onto the glass coffee table and swallowed. "So, are you ready to begin?" I asked, gazing at him. I had to admit he looked really cute in his dark jeans, and collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Can I eat first?" he asked, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Mrs. Bolton smiled. "That's a wonderful idea," she said. "If I whip up a few cookies, will you have some, Gabriella?"

"Uh," I began, looking at Troy. He seemed baffled that his mother had invited me to eat as well. "Sure."

I made sure to grab my water glass before following the two Boltons through the large house until we finally reached a huge kitchen made up of mostly stainless steel and marble. Troy sat casually in a barstool, and I followed his suit, though sitting one seat down from him.

Mrs. Bolton opened a few cupboards, taking out random ingredients. "Chocolate-chip okay?" she asked, setting a bag of the chocolate morsels on the marble counter.

I shrugged, but Troy replied, "That sounds great, Mom."

"So, honey." Mrs. Bolton said as she cracked a few eggs into a bowl. "What did you do today?"

Troy leaned his shaggy-haired head onto an elbow and said, "Oh, not much. I just went out with Shannon tonight."

"Oh?" Mrs. Bolton asked her son, now measuring some flour.

"Yeah," Troy continued. "We went to the movies, but I'm not really sure what it was about. We weren't exactly watching it," he ended, a sly grin gracing his features.

If I thought I felt awkward before, I definitely felt worse now. Hearing about Bolton's make-out escapades is not what I came here to do.

"Troy!" Mrs. Bolton exclaimed. "That's not a very polite comment to reveal to your friend, Gabriella and I."

Troy glanced at me with a smirk. Both he and I were thinking the same exact thing. Friends? Haha, not so much.

"Troy, I don't understand how you can treat these girls in such a manner." Mrs. Bolton said, whisking the ingredients together.

Troy grinned cockily. "What 'manner' are you speaking of?"

"You have a new girl practically every week," I said, without thinking. Oops.

Troy turned and gave me a look that read 'Who asked you, Montez'? Whatever. I was only stating a fact.

"Exactly," Mrs. Bolton said, eyeing her son. "Why can't you be more . . . Romantic with women, like your father was?"

Troy blushed and looked appalled. "Excuse me?"

I just sat there, staring like some sort of freakish china doll. Awkward had now turned to extremely weird.

Mrs. Bolton waved a hand, then went back to scooping spoonfuls of the cookie dough onto a baking sheet. "Oh, you know. He was always giving me flowers, tucking love-notes into my locker . . ." She paused for a moment, staring dreamily into space.

Troy and I turned to look at each other, and he imitated his mother's dreamy look with a flourish, batting his eyelashes, which cause me to stifle a giggle with my hand. He was obviously embarrassed, something I had never seen Troy be.

The sound of the preparation for the cookies began again as Mrs. Bolton snapped out of her daydream. The moment between Troy and I ended, and we both turned away quickly.

"Um, Mom?' Troy asked, breaking the silence. "Dad must have lost the 'charm' after you two married, because I don't see him being all mushy anymore."

Mrs. Bolton smiled, shaking her head. "Oh, please Troy. You were conceived when your father seduced me on Valentine's day."

OH. MY. GOSH.

If I thought Troy had blushed before, he was ten times more red now. He shuddered, and turned to me, looking horrified. "Um, Gabriella and I are going to go . . . Um . . . Study."

I kind of just sat there, staring at him in question. He jumped out of his own seat, and beckoned wildly for me to follow. I shrugged, glancing back at Mrs. Bolton, then grabbed my backpack from the floor.

"Okay," Mrs. Bolton said happily. "I'll call you in for the cookies when they're done."

I followed Troy up two flights of stairs and down several hallways until we reached a door with a sign. It read: Troy Alexander Bolton. He pushed the door open and it was then that I realized where I was. That's right, I was entering Troy Bolton's bedroom. I then found myself wondering how many other girls had graced this room . . . Even the bed. EWW! Gabi, where did THAT come from? Anyway . . .

Troy's bedroom was a typical teenage boy's bedroom. There were several clothing items on the floor, crumpled bits of paper and gadgets here and there, and his bed was rumpled as though it had been made in a rush that morning. Troy sat down on it, and looking at me standing in the doorway.

"That was . . . Um." He started to shake, and it took me a few seconds to realize that he was laughing. I unconsciously joined in, and the two of us didn't stop for several minutes. When we finally calmed down, I entered the room and sat down at his desk chair.

"Your mom seems nice, despite . . . Well, you know," I said softly, still letting my eyes wander around his room.

Troy shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "She's usually so . . . I don't know, normal. I don't know why the hell she said any of that."

There was another pause, but then I turned and pulled my History book out from my bag. "We'd better get started," I said, aware of how the mood in the room changed when Troy saw the textbook.

"Oh, right. Yeah."

Troy and I basically went over all the answers to the questions on my quiz that he missed. About halfway through Mrs. Bolton came in with a plate of cookies, and we both stifled laughter together until she left. By the time we had finished, it was past 10:30. It was actually amazing how fast the time went by. I mean, I originally thought it would be awkward to tutor Troy. But the truth is . . . He's not really so bad.

Oh, gosh. I can't believe I just wrote that. It is impossible for me to like Troy in anyway. Seriously. He didn't even smile at me in goodbye when I left form home. Mrs. Bolton offered a ride, but I lied and said my mom was picking me up at the park down the street. Teehee. I mean, c'mon. That car ride would be even more awkward than that conversation in the kitchen. And the sad part is, I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

Anyway, I am now sufficiently exhausted. I'm going to sleep now, considering the fact I have to tutor Troy tomorrow in the afternoon instead of night. That should be interesting . . .


	3. Chapter 3

September 27, My Bedroom, 9:26 AM

Wow, I didn't get to bed last night until . . . Well, really, really late. That, and the fact that I had a rather repulsive dream about Coach Bolton and Valentine's Day . . . Oh, gosh. 'EWWWW' is the only word that can express my feelings for that dream. I think the worst part about it was that I was this Valentine that he gave to Troy's Mom, Cathy. Haha, I just shuddered.

I'm sooooooo happy that my Mom is completely and utterly normal. Okay, so she's normal most of the time. And don't get me wrong, Troy's Mom was very nice, she just revealed way too much information. **Way too muc -- **Sorry, I just pressed too hard on the pen and it ripped a hole in the paper. Great.

September 27, Kitchen, 10:45

Well, I just had a divine breakfast consisting of an apple. I originally came down the stairs thinking that a nice, hearty meal of eggs and bacon would be a good way to start out my Sunday. But then I realized that it's kind of hard to cook eggs when you slip on a slice of butter and knock the carton onto the floor. Seriously, I just wasted five eggs. Crack. Whammo. Explosion. So then I decided on having a bowl of cereal. I had the wheat clusters poured and everything, but _then_ I noticed we're out of milk. So, yeah. Apples are good. I reallyneed to go shopping. I mean, I know my Mom's coming back like, tomorrow, but I'm a growing girl that cannot survive without food! And, well, there was only one apple left . . . Hmm, maybe there's some bananas. Nope, zero yellow fruits are in my refrigerator. I did, however, dig up a kiwi that looked as if it had been in there since last Christmas, but then I screamed and chucked it somewhere. Darn, now I have to find it . . .

Deathly fruit is now disposed in neighbors yard. What, I don't want to be smelling it for the rest of the day, do I? Sheesh. Even if I'm leaving for Bolton's house in five minutes. Aw, crud. I'm leaving for Bolton's house in five minutes. Maybe I'll hear about Troy's first sexual experience instead of Cathy's personal escapades. It would certainly be less awkward. Well, maybe not . . . Whatever, I have to go change out of my pajamas.

September 27, Bolton Mansion's Bathroom, unknown time

It feels weird not being able to write down the time. Shouldn't there be a clock in every room, everywhere and anywhere? Okay, so it would be a little weird to have a clock in the guest bathroom. But, still. It's not as weird as having a television in the bathroom! Seriously, there's a TV in here that is just sitting all innocently on the bathroom counter.

Personally, I think it should be on a shelf or something so that its away from the sink. Oh, wait. There's a shelf over on the other side, in front of the Jacuzzi bathtub. I wonder why it's not up there.

Okay, wow. I've just spent five minutes in here talking about the television in TROY BOLTON'S bathroom instead of telling you what's happened for the past . . . Darn, it, I need a clock!

But, really. I'm actually in here to waste time. That's right, I'm dreading having to leave this room. And maybe I don't have to leave this room. I mean, there's a shower, a bathtub, a toilet . . . Even a TV! And yes, I know the issue of food would come up sometime down the road, but then maybe I could just eat the decorative, silken flowers by the sink. Silk has nutrients, right? It comes from the silkworm's mouth. No, wait . . . IT COMES FROM THE WORM'S BUTT.

Okay, maybe I have to leave after all. But you wouldn't want to leave this room either if you knew what happened!

I had changed out of my pajamas and grabbed my backpack to go to Troy's house. To be honest, I was actually thinking, 'maybe this won't be so bad'. Because last night wasn't so bad, all embarrassing mothers aside. But this afternoon, oh boy.

When I finally reached Troy's Mansion, I knocked on the door. I waited literally for five minutes without any answer, so than I rang the doorbell. I know, rude, right? He should have been waiting by the door for me to arrive, should have been staring out the window until he saw me walking up his driveway. But, whatever. Another five minutes went by, and I was beginning to wonder why at least a butler or maid hadn't come to answer the door, if not Troy himself.

I was intent on leaving and just going home when I heard something from around the side of the house. And then, me being the nosy person I am, I walked around the side of the house until I got to a gate. I had to stand on my toes to see over, but it was totally worth it because- and this information is not for the weak hearted or for any cheerleaders who attend EHS- Troy was playing basketball . . . Shirtless!

Now, I know I hate Troy. He's an egotistical, arrogant, ignorant idiot with no manners towards women except to use them as his 'play things'. But when I saw him running around the outdoor basketball court his dad had built in their backyard, I couldn't help but stare. And that's because Troy is . . . Well, there's no other way to put it: hot.

How is it that I never noticed he has a six pack? How is it I never noticed how awesome he looked dribbled that ball across the court, sweat dripping down his torso and disappearing into really low red basketball shorts. I've been to his basketball games, of course. It's impossible to go to East High and to not have been to at least one of them because, like I said before, it's like the school revolves around basketball. I guess I just never saw what everyone else has seen . . . Pshh, it was probably Bolton's horrible personality that clouded my view.

So I basically stood there, standing on my aching toes, (How do ballerinas do it?!) and watched him practice his favorite sport. He was mesmerizing, the way he handled the ball so smoothly, the way he could shoot it so cleanly into the basket. And that's when I realized the reason I had come to his house in the first place, and I knocked myself out of the 'Oh, my gosh, he's so hot!' state and replaced it with my normal, studious one.

As soon as I opened the side-door, it emitted a loud, irritable screeching noise that told Troy, not to mention the rest of the neighborhood, that I was standing in his backyard. He sort of stopped, swiped the sweat from his brow and stood, watching as I walked over to him.

I tried to keep myself from staring at his abs by studying the beautiful backyard. Simply put, it was huge, with a full basketball court, an outdoor sitting area with a fire pit, and even a large pool with a waterfall and Jacuzzi. I admired how nicely the landscaping fit with the atmosphere that kept telling me I was standing in the middle of some resort.

"Hi, Troy," I said softly, dropping my backpack on the ground beside me. I shielded my eyes from the sun, hating how the sides of my glasses reflected it's light.

"Hey, Montez," he replied, and I could almost feel him asking why I was standing in his backyard.

"Um," I started, eyeing him as he casually tossed the basketball between both his hands. "I'm here to tutor you, so . . ."

"I know," he said, then he turned and shot the ball into the hoop perfectly. He titled his head over at me and a lazy grin graced his features. "But I still have half and hour of practice left; I promised my Dad."

Of course Coach Bolton would rather his son practice basketball than work on his school work. But, then again, I'm not even sure he knows I'm tutoring Troy.

"Then," I started, cursing the very existence of Coach Bolton. "I guess I'll have to wait for you."

"Yeah," Troy stated flippantly. "I guess you will."

He stared at me for a moment, and I'm almost positive I heard him laughing at me as I tried to pull up a chair to the side of the court. I huffed, and when I finally succeeded I slumped down into the chair with my backpack. I was intent on completing my Essay if I was going to have to wait half an hour for him.

I also refuse to admit that I glanced up at him every forty seconds. Because I definitely did not.

But anyway, I was writing for around five minutes when I felt something brush up against my ankle. Glancing down, I realized it was Troy's basketball. I grasped it in my hands and stood to throw it to him. He was looking at me all expectantly, his hand held out slightly as if to catch the ball I had not thrown yet.

I don't know what made me do it. Perhaps a centripetal force, or whatever. But the next thing I knew, instead of merely tossing the ball to Troy, I had attempted to shoot it into the basket. Everything would have been fine if the ball had sailed into the hoop like when Troy did it. Heck, I would have been perfectly happy if the ball had at least landed in the court. But, no. The orange ball went flying over the boundaries of the court and landed with a splash into the pool.

There was this silence that graced the backyard. It almost seemed as if all the garden insects quieted as well, just to stare at me in shock like Troy was. And believe me, I was shocked as well.

"Uh," Troy muttered, his eyes never leaving the basketball that had now conveniently drifted toward the center of the large pool.

I walked over to the pool's edge, nearly tripping on my backpack. Troy followed, and we both continued to stay silent as we watched the ball bob up and down in the water. Troy suddenly let out a snort, and I turned to him questioningly.

"Was that your free throw?" he asked, and I could tell he was holding in laughter. "Cause that was crap."

I giggled involuntarily. "Well, obviously it wasn't East High basketball team quality," I replied, then I knelt down toward the water.

"You do know that you're getting it out, right?" Troy asked, smirking at me.

"Well," I started. It wasn't exactly warm out, probably around fifty-six degrees, but the water looked freezing. "Do you have one of those net-thingies?"

Trust myself not to know what they were called. Now that I think about it, they're probably called 'pool nets'. How original.

Troy shook his head, and a devious grin started to form on his lips. " Nope. Looks as if your only choice is to jump in."

I grumbled, and dipped my hand into the water; it was almost arctic. "Are you kidding, Bolton? It's not heated even a little bit!"

Troy laughed, and knelt down beside me. "Montez, that's my favorite ball. If you don't go get it, I'll make you get it."

I stared silently into the icy water's depths, wishing I had the power to summon the stupid basketball to the poolside. Why the heck hadn't I just tossed it to him like a normal, non-basketball playing person would do?

"Montez?" I heard Troy inquire, but I didn't answer.

I ignored him and continued to try to think of some other way I could retrieve the ball without getting wet. Troy on the other hand, had other plans.

"Okay," he said, and I heard him shift slightly. "I warned you." And then, right as I registered what was happening, he shoved me into the pool.

I was furious at Troy for pushing me in for three reasons: One, it was, obviously, absolutely freezing. Two, I was wearing a white shirt. And three, I was wearing my glasses which are probably ruined now. I was struggling to swim to the surface to face Troy's obnoxious smirk and to scream my lungs out at him when a better idea came to mind.

Now, when I look back at what I did, I realize it was kind of cruel and completely out of my usual character. But to be honest, I really had had enough of him. I wanted a little revenge of my own, to show him that Gabriella Montez was not a force to be reckoned with. I knew Troy knew next to nothing about me . . . He didn't even know if I knew how to swim.

And so, as I looked up at Troy through the water, I simply stopped swimming and allowed myself to sink toward the bottom. The reason for my sinking was probably the fact that over my white shirt, I was wearing a rather heavy jacket that soaked in the water and dragged me down. Normally it wouldn't have been a problem for me to just swim to the surface, or even just shrug the jacket off. But I didn't.

I'm not exactly sure how long I was under the water, waiting, thinking . . . It was as if time had frozen on the spot, because I wasn't even struggling to hold my breath. I was just merely swaying in the water like a piece of seaweed. It was at this point that I think I realized I hadn't completely fool proofed my plan. What if Troy saw through my attempt to punish him and just waited for me to come out? What, was I supposed to just swim to the surface like an idiot and answer a bunch of awkward questions? But by the time I started to feel dizzy. The clock had started again, time was no longer frozen, and my body started to protest for the need of air.

I can't recollect what happened exactly. All I remember is feeling the water shift, swaying more until an arm had enclosed around my body. I also remember, embarrassingly enough, feeling safe and loved in the pair of arms that was pulling me upward. Of course now I know it was Troy. He had eventually dived into the water and pulled me up to the surface.

I can recall a pair of concerned blue eyes gazing down at me, and then the feeling of my jacket being ripped off. I know. I nearly drowned myself on purpose and all I can think about is the fact that Troy could see through my shirt. I was wearing a bra, of course, but still. Anyway, I basically started to cough up water; he needn't have performed CPR because he had pulled me up just in time, which was good.

"Gabriella?" Troy said, breathing heavily. He was slapping my back, helping me to cough up the water I had breathed in. "Are you okay? S-say something!"

The fact that he knew my name was shocking. It was the first time I had ever heard my name come from his mouth, and, I hate to admit that I liked the sound of it. I took a couple of great, shuddering breaths and nodded, hugging the patio.

"What happened?" he asked suddenly, still rubbing my back tenderly. It was a nice change from him insulting me.

I shouldn't have told him the truth. Seriously, it was the stupidest thing I ever could have done, and yet, I did it anyway.

"I dunno," I said quietly, slurring my words slightly from exhaustion. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

I turned my head and looked up at his face. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his blue eyes were shinning, and I noticed what remained of his scared expression. "What do you mean you don't know? Why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?!" he burst, the guilt practically dripping from his voice. "You could have died!"

It was my turn to feel guilty. That's right. After all Troy Bolton had done to me, I was finally able to see him frightened, and I felt horrible about it.

"Troy," I said softly. "I _can_ swim."

He paused, staring at me with the biggest confused expression on his face. "Then why --"

But I cut him off. "I was going to prank you . . . I wanted to get back at you for pushing me in, but . . . I don't know, when it finally registered I needed air I couldn't swim."

That's when I rolled over and, as quickly as I could in my dizzy state, walked dripping wet into his house and ended up here, wondering why the heck anyone would want a TV in their bathroom.

I'm a horrible, horrible person. I really cannot believe I did that to Troy, even if he is the world's biggest jerk. The expression on his face when I finished coughing up the water . . . It was this mix of relief, fear, and guilt. How could I have let a person feel that way? All for wanting to get revenge! Revenge is stupid, Gabi! It's for idiots who are immature. And right now, I've sunken below them.

Oh, crud. Someone's knocking on the door. And I know it isn't Chad.

September 27, My Bedroom, 9:23 PM

Have you ever read the book _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_? It's basically a book about a group of kids who have magical powers and go to a school called 'Hogwarts' to learn spells. The three main characters, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, are not best friends at the beginning. No, at first Harry and Ron dislike Hermione. Eventually, when a Troll breaks into the school and Hermione is in danger, the boys work together to save her life. Somehow the life-threatening experience brought the three together.

Well, I wouldn't exactly say I was attacked by a huge troll carrying a club. And Troy is hardly two small eleven year-olds who wave magic wands. But I can say that for right now, Troy and I are okay. That's right, we are now . . . Friends. In a way, anyway. I wouldn't exactly call him up and be all, "Hey, dude, how bout we go to the Mall and hit on people?" but I'm sure he won't treat me inhumanly anymore.

I was right in thinking it wasn't Chad because, well, Chad wouldn't knock politely on the door, he'd just burst in. It wasn't even Troy's parents either, which was another possibility. When I opened the door, I was, of course, greeted with the sight of Troy.

He wasn't soaking wet anymore and had changed into a black pair of basketball shorts and a blue sweatshirt that read: I come with my own controller. He was holding a towel and what looked like an extra set of clothes.

"Hi," he said softly as I opened the door wider. "If you'd change into these, I think we need to have a talk."

I nodded, accepting the clothing and towel and closing the door. Troy had given me a pair of what looked to be his boxers and a red hoodie that said 'East High School Basketball Captain'.

At first I thought it rather perverted that he had given me a pair of his boxers to wear, but then I remembered that he is probably a good six or seven inches taller than me and that his basketball shorts would probably be too long. I slipped out of my wet clothing, but kept my underwear on. Even if the boxers were clean, I still felt the need to conserve my innocence. After pulling the sweatshirt over my head (It came down to my knees.) I folded my wet clothing and neatly left it in a drawer to retrieve later, before I left.

I found Troy leaning against the wall opposite my door. He beckoned me to follow him, and I was taken on the slightly familiar route to his bedroom. It was the same from yesterday, if not a little messier with an extra set of clothes strewn on the floor. Troy once again sat on his bed, so I sat in his desk chair, eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Am I really that . . . What I mean is . . . Am I really so bad to you that you would nearly drown just to get revenge?" he asked, and he sounded as if he had genuinely meant it..

I was quiet for a moment, truly contemplating my answer. "It's not that you treat me badly," I started, now staring at my hands. "For a while you didn't acknowledge me at all. I'm in every single one of your classes and I don't even think you knew my name until I started to tutor you. So, no. You don't treat me badly. You just don't even treat me at all.

"I'm the girl who could care less about her weight, about what clothes she wears, and whether or not her hair is perfectly in place. I'm not a cheerleader, a pretty girl, or anybody that you actually notice. And the problem, Troy, is that in the moments that you did realize I was there, you treated me like shit."

I immediately covered my mouth after swearing, which is something I never do. But luckily it seemed to help get my point across.

Troy stared at me, and when I looked up to meet his eyes I saw no coldness. "And, you're not . . . Suicidal, or anything, right? It was just a harmless prank gone wrong?"

"Well, yeah. I wasn't really thinking properly. I just did the first action that came to mind, and it happened to be a poor choice."

He nodded, then glanced over at his clock. It was 1:30, and he suddenly asked, "Want something to eat?"

I don't think Troy and I realized how hungry we were until just then. We were so wrapped up in my almost death that any thoughts of food were completely washed away. But let me tell you, as soon as Troy mentioned eating, I shot up out of my chair and we both headed for the kitchen.

I sat down at one of the barstools, and Troy strode over to the refrigerator. "Um, our options seem to be butter, cilantro, chicken base, and . . ." he paused, digging behind a couple of water bottles. " An unknown brown substance in Tupperware."

I laughed at how similar Troy and my refrigerators were. His was unexpected, however, because of the fact that he had maids or butlers to stock up with food. "I say we go for the Brown substance, considering it could be chocolate."

Troy grinned at me, then slid the container so it stopped in front of me on the counter top. "You are more than welcome to try it," he said, smirking.

"Why don't you have any food?" I asked, as Troy's head disappeared into the freezer. "I mean, I don't have food at my house, but that's only because my Mom has been gone for the entire weekend and I don't have a car."

"We give the servants the Weekends off, so they can visit with their families," he answered, though his voice was slightly muffled. "And my parents left for the day to visit my Mom's cousin, Marjorie, or something-- Aha!"

I watched as Troy slid a carton of mint-chip ice-cream onto the counter. He kicked the freezer door shut, then dug two spoons out from a drawer and placed them on the counter. "Figure out what that was, yet?" he asked, joining me at the barstools.

"No, and maybe I don't exactly want to."

He laughed and pried the top of the ice-cream, then dug a spoon into it. He seemed to swish it in his mouth for a while before he said, "Not bad."

I grabbed the other spoon and scooped a large, heaping bite into my mouth. After a few seconds I made a face which Troy noticed. "What?" he asked, continuing to shovel the ice-cream into his mouth.

"It tastes like plastic!" I exclaimed, dropping the spoon onto the counter and eyeing the ice-cream. "How old is that, anyway?"

Troy shrugged, his spoon dangling from his mouth. "I dunno, and I don't care. If you don't like it, you can have that brown crap."

I turned to the mysterious container. I have to admit it really looked disgusting. At first I pulled the top off just to joke around, but after smelling it I realized what it was.

"See, I told you! It's chocolate fudge!" I laughed, dipping a finger into the mush and tasting it's goodness.

Troy's mouth dropped open, and he made a grab for the Tupperware. I spun on the barstool, tugging the container out of his reach. "Uh, uh. You've got you delicious, carton-y flavored ice-cream. I'm just going to sit here and eat my fudge."

Okay, thinking back, I realize that it looks as though I'm flirting. Well, I wasn't. Heck, I don't even know how to flirt, for that matter. So, think what you want, but I'm not buying it.

Troy crossed his arms, his ice-cream clearly forgotten. "Gabriella," he whined, and once again I noticed he said my first name. "You can't just hog all my Mom's home-made fudge."

I exaggeratedly tasted a spoonful, closing my eyes for effect. "If it was so good, then how come you didn't even know what it is?"

Troy glared, then plucked the phone from it's base beside us on the counter and dialed a number. He walked away into another room, and for a moment I thought he was truly mad at me. But a few minutes later, he came back looking like a Cheshire cat.

"What?" I asked suspiciously, taking another bite of the delicious fudge.

"Nothing," Troy replied innocently, and he sat down once more. "I just ordered pizza."

"What!" I exclaimed, setting the fudge onto the counter. "I want some!"

Once again. No flirting involved whatsoever. Remember, I only ate an apple for breakfast. I was willing to do anything to get my hands on food.

Troy crossed his arms and shook his head. "Ah, ah, ah, Gabriella. You have your fudge, remember?"

He certainly got some too, considering seconds later the fudge was dripping down his cheek after I had bent my spoon and flung a chunk at him. When the pizza finally arrived, Troy hastily changed his mind and let me have some.

After that, we pretty much talked about anything and everything. I noticed he kept away from touchy topics like the jocks and nerds issue or the fact that I had nearly drowned. When I finally left around four o'clock, I realized a few things on my walked home.

One, I now consider Troy Bolton to be one of my friends. Two, I never actually tutored him in the few hours that I was at his house, not to mention I left my backpack and glasses in his backyard. And three, the most important in my opinion, my shirt, jacket, jeans, and bra are still folded neatly in his guest bathroom drawer.

**A/n: yes, I know the whole 'drowning' thing is totally over used, but I needed an experience that would pull them together. Because really, Troy wouldn't just randomly start liking Gabriella. Life isn't that way, though I wish it was, lol. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

September 28, 2007. Walking to School, 7:33 AM.

I am unbelievably tired this morning. My Mom came home around 3:00 in the morning, and then I couldn't fall asleep until around 5:00 because I was talking to her, so, yeah. I hate when I'm tired on Mondays, too. I'm supposed to get a good night's sleep Sunday night so I can jump start my week. But, no. This week I'm starting my week by falling asleep in my classes. Oh, gosh, I hope I don't fall asleep in my classes!

Why, oh why did I have to stay up late talking to my Mom? I mean, talking to the parents, I'm all for it! Ahem. But, really, it's better at a more reasonable time. Even greater when the topic doesn't revolve around whose boxers I seemed to be donning instead of my own pajamas. Here was pour basic conversation:

Me: Hi, Mom, how was your flight?

Mom: It was good, honey, how was your weekend . . . Wait a minute.

Me: What's wrong?

Mom: Do we need to have the sex talk, Gabriella Anne Montez?

Me: WHAT?

Mom: Why on Earth are you wearing a pair of Boy's Underwear?

Me: looking down and recognizing my attire and also realizing that I walked home in it Um, its not what you think

Mom: Please tell me you're not having sex, Gabriella

Me: Ha! With Troy? That's a riot.

Mom: Gabi . . .

Me: Nothing happened, Mom. I just, erm, fell into his pool and he gave me an extra pair of clothes.

OOPS.

Yes, that's right. I nearly drowned, AND I wore Troy Bolton's boxers to sleep last night. But don't go getting perverted thoughts in your twisted, dirty mind! I only did it because, well, I found it unreasonable to waste another pair of clothes considering I ruined my previous outfit and then LEFT it at Troy's house. Okay, terrible reason, but whatever. You're just a stupid diary that I can return back to the store my Mom bought you from whenever I want to.

Yes, I'm fully aware of the fact that I've already filled a good portion of your pages with my miserable life. It's not so hard to just rip those pages out . . . Ha! You didn't think of that, did you! Oh, my gosh, I'm going crazy. I mean, really. I'm freaking talking to a diary. But . . . Just in case you're not a diary and actually some sort of spy gear in disguise, I will never let you out of my sight. No one can know about yesterday. NO ONE.

Troy and I may have come to some sort of silent understanding, but I bet you a million dollars that as soon as I reach East High, he'll go straight back to ignoring me like always. And I know yesterday it SEEMED like we became friends. And maybe we did, but this is high school we're talking about. Life doesn't go the way we want it to in high school. If it did, I wouldn't have almost drowned and wouldn't be wearing my contacts today.

Oh, and before I say anything else, I know that I lied to my Mom about the whole 'drowning' incident. But, really. I'm fine. I didn't die. So what would be the point of worrying her? So, yeah. Case closed about that topic.

But anyway, my contacts. Usually I only wore my glasses for when I read, but, considering I'm always reading, I was always wearing them. However, they, like my jacket, bra, and other items, remain at Troy's house. I'm really hoping he hasn't noticed the bra and that when I go over to tutor him tonight, I can just grab it and shove it in my backpack, or something.

Aw, crud. I've reached the school.

September 28, 2007. Homeroom, 8:03 AM.

Well, here I am, watching some substitute teacher write something on the board. I wonder where Ms. Darbus is . . . Miss? No, Mrs.? Actually, who would want to marry her? I'll stick with Ms. Darbus. Anyway, I'm like the only person in class right now, considering class doesn't start for 5 more minutes. Actually, I don't understand why they do that. Why can't they just make school start at 8:10 instead of 8:08? What is up with that???

The sub. is now stepping away from the board. Wow, she practically wrote an entire paragraph . . . .

_Hello, students. My name is Ms. Brown, and I will be your teacher for the next month or so. I am sorry to say that Ms. Darbus has had a family emergency, but she will be coming back as soon as she can. Please sit in your usual seats so I can take roll. Thank you!_

I wonder what Ms. Darbus's emergency is? Maybe a family member passed away, or something. Whatever. All this means is that for the next month, this classroom will be in utter chaos. Great. Taylor just walked in. It's weird, because I haven't talked to her since that awkward conversation over instant messaging.

"Hi, Taylor," I said as she took her seat which is a few behind me and to my left.

She looked up at me weirdly, but then smiled. Okaaaaay. 'Hello, Gabriella. How are you?' 'Oh, fine, thanks. Yourself?'

Does that sound hard to you? Because it doesn't to me! It's weird, Taylor used to be my best friend. But now its like, over night we just drifted apart, or something. I'm going try again to engage her in a conversation.

Okay, maybe not. Chad just walked in and sat down next to her. HOLD IT! What in the world am I missing here? Okay, think Gabriella. What could have happened that made Chad and Taylor like each other? It couldn't have happened over night like Taylor's and my sudden rift.

She and Chad are now talking. Oh, hahahaha! That is sooo funny, Chad! Pshhh. Please, this is disgusting. I can't think of anything more gros --

I stand corrected. Troy just walked in wearing his usual outfit: jeans, an unbuttoned collared shirt with an undershirt beneath it, and a blonde hanging off his arm. See, I told you today would be just like it always was. Well, with the exception of Taylor. I wonder if she's mad at me for some reason . . .

Bell just rang. I can sense the whole 'inspirational substitute speech' coming up. Yup, here it is. I should have brought some earplugs.

"Good morning, class," Ms. Brown said as she stood in front of the white board. "If you have not already read the board, my name is Ms. Brown. I will be filling in for your usual teacher, Ms. Darbus, until she is able to return."

There was a smattering of hollers and cheers which I think is rather rude, considering Ms. Darbus has a family emergency. At least Troy wasn't one of the disrespectful idiots.

"Now, I know you usually use this hour of class time to complete any homework or to study for a test or two. However, Ms. Darbus seemed to think you would not be using this time wisely whilst she is not present in this room."

This is so true. When a substitute replaces the real teacher, it's almost tradition that the students don't listen to the proper instructions. I guess Ms. Darbus suspected this, of course.

"And so," Ms. Brown continued, obviously unaware of the fact that I am probably the only student listening. Troy and the blonde, Lindsay I think her name is, are busy sharing saliva. It surprising how unappealing the sight is, considering how hot Troy is. And then Chad and Taylor are being all cutesy behind me. It's rather annoying, really. I really don't understand what happened between us. "Ms. Darbus has instructed me to assign partners."

What?

There was an uproar throughout the class, but then Ms. Brown said, "Partners will be chosen, but choose wisely, because you do not want to have a partner who does not wish to study."

Oh, gosh. Partners? Does Ms. Darbus really think that that will help us to study during class time? I just turned around to see if Taylor would be my partner, but she was already practically sitting on Chad's desk. I'm pretty sure we need to have a talk.

Everyone has a partner except for me. That's, right. I, Gabriella Ann Montez, am officially a loner. Even Kelsi is paired up with Martha Cox because 'she thought Taylor and I would be partners'. I hate myself.

I have to admit that part of me wanted to be Troy's partner, but I guess it was a little far fetched. He's still making out with Lindsay. Jeeze, what's so great about kissing, anyway? I'm sure exchanging saliva as well as mononucleosis is great fun. There must be something I'm missing, which is obvious because I've never even held a guy's hand before.

I must be some kind of a reject. Even Taylor, who I thought was my best friend, has a guy who's interested in her. She must be prettier then me. Smarter then me. No, wait. I'm smarter than Lindsay by miles, so that can't be it. I'm definitely sure it's just my 'un-beautifulness'. I hate to admit it, but for once in my life I feel like I care how I look . . .

All I'm wearing right now is an old sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and converse sneakers. My hair is in it's usual messy bun, and I have never worn make-up in my entire life. But you know what? I'm not about to start changing the way I look just because boys don't notice me. I'm not that person, I'm not needy. If a guy can't deal with how I dress or act, then he isn't good enough for me.

Chemistry Notes: The atom

Atom: A unit of matter, the smallest unit of an element, having all the characteristics of that element and consisting of a dense, central, positively charged nucleus surrounded by a system of electrons. The entire structure has an approximate diameter of 10-8 centimeter and characteristically remains undivided in chemical reactions except for limited removal, transfer, or exchange of certain electrons.

September 28, 2007. Lunch, 12:30.

Well, I'm sitting up in this random area. It's this place up on the roof where the science club grows all these beautiful flowers, and you can breath in the fresh air. Even if there's not exactly much to do up here . . . And I'm starving because I left my lunch in the cafeteria. The worst part is that I can only blame one -- no, two -- people for why I'm sitting all alone in an area of the campus that only geeks like me know about. Taylor and Chad.

I know I saw it coming. If I look back at my previous entries in this diary I can read the absolute evidence of their relationship. The only thing I didn't notice was the fact that their relationship was not just blossoming. No, as of today, I know they have been a couple. FOR A WHILE.

I don't know why Taylor didn't tell me. I'm practically her best friend, and yet somehow she's managed to keep this HUGE secret. It was right under my nose! The entire, freaking time! And, okay. I didn't exactly give Taylor a chance to explain herself after I found out. Right now I'm just . . . You know what? I'm not even going to care anymore. Let Taylor hang out with stupid Chad and hide stupid love notes in her stupid bag. That's how I found out. About her and Chad's relationship, I mean.

It's funny, really. Only an hour before now I was sitting peacefully in Mr. Lawrence's classroom taking notes on the French and Indian war. Gosh, my life was much simpler then. When I walked in and took my usual seat Troy even said hello to me, and during the note taking he asked me frequent questions on whether or not certain points were important.

But then I walked out of that world into a new one. It started out pretty normal. I bought my usual lunch and strode over to the table where Taylor and Kelsi were sitting. Right now I really wish I had at least taken a bite out of my sandwich before talking to her so I wouldn't be as hungry as I am now. But, whatever.

"Hey, Kels, Taylor," I had said as I sat between the two of them and placed my lunch on the table.

"Hi, Gabriella."

"Hello, Gabi."

I smiled, then turned to Taylor. "So, how come you and Chad are partners in homeroom? You didn't even talk to me at all, really."

Taylor actually had the decency to look slightly guilty before she replied, "Oh, you know. He asked me to . . . Tutor him with his studies. And I was tired, so I wasn't really in the mood to argue."

I have to admit that I believed her. That is, until what happened next.

"Oh, okay, then. I guess we'll be partners next time."

Taylor smiled, happy to be off the subject of Chad. Heck, if I were in her position I would have been happy too.

"So, Gabriella," Kelsi started. "Did you get that paper, yet?"

I looked up at Kelsi curiously. "What paper?" I asked.

Kelsi finished chewing her bite of pasta before saying, "The one you get in your math class. You know, about the Back to School Dance?"

My math class, Physics AP, isn't until my very last period. Maybe if I had gotten that stupid paper sooner this entire thing would not have happened.

"No, I haven't gotten that yet." I turned to Taylor whose backpack resided on the floor beside her. "Tay, you have Physics second period, can I see the paper?"

Taylor was busy reading some book for English, so she nodded and replied, "Yeah, it's in my homework binder."

I bent over and dragged her bag toward myself, then unzipped it open. The flier was in the folder of her homework binder and read:

_**EAST HIGH BACK TO SCHOOL DANCE!**_

Welcome back to East High School, home of the wildcats. In honor of last year's fabulous Testing scores and the large amount of students on Honor Roll, the staff has decided to award you all with a Back to School dance.

Sign ups for the Dance Committee are posted outside the front office, feel free to help set up! Tickets will be sold starting today at lunch and will cost fifteen dollars each. We hope you all come!

Dance Date: Friday, October 9

Okay, first of all, why are we having a 'Back to School dance' two months into the school year? By that time it's almost Halloween. I don't' understand the stupid Dance committee.

But, anyway. I had just finished reading the flier when I noticed there was something on the back of the paper. When I turned it over, it turned out to be handwriting. TWO sets of handwriting.

_**Hey, Tay. Wanna go to the dance with me?**_

_Chad! Stop writing on my flier._

_**Who cares about the flier. I got mine ten minutes ago and I already don't know where it is.**_

_**. . . Taylor, are you actually paying attention in this class?**_

_Chad, why are you even taking physics. You obviously don't like it._

_**So I can bug the shit out of you.**_

_Don't swear._

_**Crap, shit, fuck, damn**_

_CHAD! _

_**I'll keep going if you don't go to the dance with me . . . .**_

_I don't know, Chad. Nobody knows about us yet._

_**Tay, we've been dating for two months already. It's about time people knew. Troy's getting suspicious. **_

_So is Gabriella._

_**Who's that again?**_

_Why am I even your girlfriend?_

_**Because you love me!**_

There was more, but then Taylor noticed what I was reading. She gasped loudly, and snatched the paper out of my hands. I kind of sat there, staring at the spot where the flier had been just moments before. Then I slowly turned to look at Taylor.

She was staring at me, holding the paper to her chest, her eyes wide with fear. "Why did you read that?! It's my personal property!"

Okay. I know its going to look like I snapped. But that's because I totally snapped.

"Your property?" I burst out, standing up from my seat. "You told me I could see the flier!"

"But you didn't have to read the back!"

"I cannot believe you've been lying to me for TWO MONTHS! I thought we were friends, Taylor!"

Taylor stood up too, ripping the paper to shreds. "I didn't lie, I just never told you!"

I started to laugh manically. The entire cafeteria was beginning to look our way, but I didn't care. "What, that you and Chad are boyfriend and girlfriend!"

And now the entire room was not only looking at us, but also silent. Taylor turned toward the jock table to see Chad staring at her with wide eyes. Then she wiped her head around and glared at me.

"You didn't have to announce it to the entire world, Gabriella!"

I threw my hands into the air. "They would have found out sometime! Probably before you even told me! Why, Taylor? Why didn't you tell me!"

Taylor shook for a moment before bursting out, "Because you wouldn't have approved! You would have been, 'Oh, why are you dating a jock? They're stupid and mean and they just ignore people'. Well you know what, Gabriella? Have you ever thought that it was just you they ignored? Because from what I know of Chad and his friends is they are very nice people! And if you're going to judge others, maybe they're right to ignore you!"

I stood there, her words ringing in my ears over and over again. Taylor seemed to be experiencing the same thing, for her expression drained and sorrow filled her eyes.

"I-I didn't mean it like --"

I shook my head, hating myself for the tears that were filling my eyes. "No. You did."

Then I turned, leaving my lunch on the table, and ran from the room to Taylor calling my name. That's basically how I ended up here. Why is it that lately weird things have been happening to me? That I always seem to run away from others only to lock myself in a room to write in this stupid diary.

What is wrong with me? Is Taylor even right? Why _do_ people ignore me? Maybe I'm just a freak. Maybe I'm just not meant to fit in anywhere. Maybe I --

September 28, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:30.

I leave for Troy's house in five minutes. Troy, whom three days ago I despised with a passion. Troy, who is now probably my only friend.

I stopped writing before because a voice had cut me off. "You're not a freak."

I screamed, dropping my pen. You would have too, because Troy was standing right beside me, reading over my shoulder while I wrote for who knows how long. How in the world did I not notice him? I really don't know.

"W-What," I stuttered, watching him laugh at me while I slammed my diary shut. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugged, sitting next to me then bending down to retrieve my fallen pen. "Not long. Probably a few minutes. You're not a freak, though."

I grabbed my pen from his fingers, looking at him incredulously. "If I'm not a freak then why don't I have any friends?"

"You have friends. Taylor is your friend." He paused for a second before saying, "I'm your friend."

I turned away from him, blushing. "Taylor isn't my friend. And If I'm not a freak, then why does everyone ignore me? Why did you ignore me?"

Troy remained silent and the two of us gazed at the beautiful flowers all around the rooftop. When he finally spoke, I was startled. "You're not a freak, Gabriella. You're just more . . . Real. And that's intimidating."

"What do you mean 'real'?" I asked.

"Well, you know, real. Like, you're not like most of the girls at this school who mold themselves to be what's in, or whatever. There's also the fact that your head always seems to be tucked in that little book writing things that aren't true about yourself."

I smiled a little, turning to face him again. There was just something about Troy that made me feel abnormal. But a good abnormal. Like I was pretty, or something. He made me feel good about myself without even trying.

"I didn't know either, you know," Troy said seriously. "About Chad and Taylor, I mean."

I swallowed, frowning slightly. "Yeah," was all I could think of to say.

"There were a lot of signs, though. Like, Chad would mysteriously be busy on Saturday nights."

I laughed, relating to Troy completely. "Taylor would have missed calls with somebody by the name of 'Lunkhead'. I thought it was her little brother, or something."

We both continued to laugh, then Troy gasped between peals of laughter, "When I found a pink, girl sweater in Chad's backpack, he said it was his mom's."

I choked, grabbing my sides as I giggled uncontrollably. "Taylor told me the reason she and Chad are partners in homeroom is because she was 'tutoring him'."

"Chad said the hickies on his neck were mosquito bites!"

"EW! Taylor said the reason she smelt like guy's cologne was because her great aunt gave her bad perfume and she didn't want to make her aunt feel bad by not wearing it!"

"Chad said the reason he wasn't seeing girls anymore was because he was considering the fact that he was gay!"

Troy's last comment made us both break down. We both collapsed into a heap on the ground, laughing loudly and weirdly with tears streaming down our faces. I was glad I wasn't the only person who was hurt by Chad and Taylor's lying, and I told Troy this when we both had finally calmed down.

"We're going to have to forgive them sometime," Troy said, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

I smiled deviously. "Just because we have to forgive them doesn't mean we can't let them think we won't."

Troy's mouth curled into a crooked grin, and his cobalt blue eyes glinted. "I had no idea you were this evil, Montez."

I shrugged, smiling innocently. "You don't know a lot about me, Bolton."

After that Troy and I basically talked until the bell rang. I was glad Taylor wasn't in my last two classes, because I wasn't ready to face her yet. After tonight with Troy, when we will construct our ground rules, I'm sure I will be more than ready. I will, of course, tutor him before we plan out what we are going to do tomorrow. But more importantly than that, I REALLY need to retrieve my bra from his bathroom drawer.

A/N: Okay, so a more serious chapter. But the next one will be way more fun and comical. I'll post a preview in my blog, okay! Please review and visit my blog, the link is in my profile.


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: Something happened with the 'strike' tag. So when the two are arguing about crossing each other's words out, just go with it.

September 28, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:47 PM.

Well, I just got dropped off at home from Troy's house. That's right, DROPPED OFF, not WALKED OFF. Wait, 'walked off'?

Anyway . . . You get the point, right? I didn't walk home, someone drove me. Troy drove me, in fact. Yes, I know. What the heck prompted The Troy Bolton to drive me, feeble and bookworm-y Gabriella Montez? Actually, I don't even know why myself.

I basically walked to Troy's house like I have done for the past few days. Once again I heard the sounds of him playing basketball in his backyard, but as I was about to open the side gate like I had yesterday, I remembered a very important mission I had yet to complete.

**Mission: Retrieve Bra From Guest Bathroom But Remember To Ask Troy For Other Less Embarrassing Clothing Items Later **

**(Otherwise know as R.B.F.G.B.B.R.T.A.T.F.O.L.E.C.I.L for short . . . Okay, R.B for short.)**

**Objectives:**

**1. Somehow get into house without Troy's knowledge**

**2. Sneak into guest bathroom**

**3. Stuff my shirt, jeans, and BRA in backpack**

**4. Go back outside, go through side door, and ask Troy for Glasses and Jacket**

Unfortunately I barely got past objective number one. Well, I guess if you look at it in a certain way I kind of did . . . Okay, maybe not. The manners my mother has pounded into my head since the day I was born got the better of me, so I just _had_ to knock on the door. How was I supposed to know that Troy's maid would inform him of my presence as soon as I stepped inside? Okay, stupid question.

When I knocked on the door, it opened, revealing a young woman in a pair of jeans and a stained shirt. She had her long hair tied back and was holding an old rag and some sort of cleaner.

"Um, hi," I said timidly.

The woman smiled brightly and opened the door wider. "Oh, you must be Miss Montez. Mr. Bolton has been expecting you."

Okay. I was taken aback that Troy had thought to mention the fact that I was coming over that evening. I mean, I get that he would mention it to his Dad or Mom, but his maid? Maybe it's just the fact that I have never had a maid in my entire life. Ah, the perks of wealth . . .

I stood stupidly on the front porch until the maid beckoned me inside. She then turned around and I thought at the time that she was going to resume cleaning, or something. She was just walking away, leaving me to stand in the doorway. And so, I thought, _here's my chance!_ And I began walking down the hallway that I remembered my destination to reside in. I was probably less then twenty steps away from the bathroom when I heard a voice ring out from out of no where.

"Mr. Bolton, Miss Montez has arrived. She's waiting in the foyer."

I swung around and realized the voice was coming from a speaker on the ceiling. The mansion had a freaking intercom! As soon as I heard it, I bolted down the hallway and into the guest bathroom. My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it was going to explode. Here it was: the moment to which I had been waiting for. I slid the drawer open only to find . . . Emptiness.

Yup. All that and the drawer was empty. Unfilled. And then I remembered that Troy was probably looking for me by then, so I slammed the stupid drawer shut and sauntered back down the hallway and into the foyer.

Troy was just walking in and looked at me oddly, cocking his head to the side. "What were you doing down there?" he asked.

"Um," I began, racking my brain for a plausible answer. I mean, really. What do you say to that? "I was-- "

But thankfully, Troy cut me off. "You know what? Do you mind if I go shower really quickly? It's really cold outside, and I'm wet."

And then I noticed he was shirtless. Holy mother . . . He was also dripping with sweat. Why, why, why does he have to be so good-looking?

"Uhhhh." I remember thinking _Say something Gabriella! Anything! _And then I said,"Do you have my bra?"

OH. MY. GOSH.

Yes, that is what I said. I really, truly said that. And you should've seen his face. I actually would have been fine if he had blushed, or something. Heck, I was probably a violent shade of crimson at that point. But, no. Troy sort of grinned a crooked smile, and his blue eyes sparkled. It made my stomach turn over.

"There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear Gabriella Montez ask me."

I just stood there feeling horrified while Troy grinned all . . . Sexily at me. And believe me, I never thought I'd be asking Troy Bolton that question either.

"Um, so, do you have it?" I asked tentatively, figuring that I had already dropped the bomb, anyway.

"You know, I'll have to check on that," Troy said, and he turned, walking down a hallway. I remained standing in the foyer, still absolutely mortified. However, Troy's head reappeared from behind the wall and he said in an exasperated tone, "C'mon, Gabriella!"

Troy ended up leading me into what could only be the laundry room. There were baskets of neatly folded clothing sitting on the floor by two sets of washers and dryers that were humming as they worked. Troy stepped over a few baskets and grabbed one filled with basketball shorts and shirts. He set it on a counter and lifted a stack of boxers out, setting them beside the basket.

"Okay," he muttered, then he held up a scantily red, lacy bra. "Is this it?" he asked, grinning playfully.

The bras that I own are by all means NOT sexy in any way. There's no lace, no bright colors, no sluty designs. They are plain, usually tan colored or old fashioned white. I actually wondered why Troy's maids had even put such a bra in his basket in the first place.

"Uh, no," I managed to squeak out, now not even trying to conceal my embarrassment. If I thought I was red before, I'm sure I was ten times more red at that moment.

Troy shrugged, and continued to dig through his basket. "I'm guessing these aren't yours, right?"

Why anyone would even consider buying a pair of panties with the words 'toy enclosed' written across the crotch is beyond me. I couldn't stop the image of Lindsay buying them from running through my mind.

"NO!" I nearly shouted, and Troy continued to grin lightly as he placed the underwear back into the basket.

"Well, Gabriella, I think that's it for right now." He paused for a moment, digging through the basket. "I'll have to get back to you."

"What? Let me look," I said, pushing him aside. I was just about to start digging when Troy grabbed my hands.

"Hey, relax, Montez. It's probably still in the laundry."

This was when I suddenly became very aware of how Troy was holding my hands. Like I've said before, I have never held hands with a guy. And, okay. I wasn't _really_ holding hands with him, but he still had his figures wrapped around my own. His fingertips were sort of calloused, rough from the hours of basketball he plays each day. His palms were also larger than my own, strong and protective. But as soon as Troy had grabbed my hands, he had let go of them.

"You seem to have an entire assortment of women's undergarments in your laundry, Bolton. Why won't you let me look?"

Troy shrugged, and began to lead me out of the room. "Because that set of 'undergarments', as you put it, belong to Lindsay."

That shut me up. So I was correct in thinking that Troy's newest flame, Lindsay, would be as bold as to buy such disgusting panties. But I really didn't like the image of Troy and Lindsay . . . I don't know, 'playing' in his bed. For some reason the thought made me . . . Jealous. But I can't be jealous. Not about Troy, anyway. It'd just be too wrong.

"Then why did you ask if they belonged to me if you already knew they didn't?" I asked persistently.

Troy turned to face me, and his hair flopped into his eyes. "Maybe because you're cute when you blush."

Did Troy Bolton actually compliment me? I mean, really. Is that considered a compliment, or is he just making fun of me, or something?

"Um, thanks," was all I could think of to say. Hey, it was better than 'where's my bra', or whatever.

"So," Troy began as we finally reached the foyer once again. "I'm just going to shower really quickly. You can, I don't know . . . Hang in my room. I'll only be fifteen minutes."

I was quiet for a moment, but then I nodded. "Your room is which way again?"

"Here, I'll show you."

Less than a minute later I found myself in Troy's bedroom once again. He disappeared behind a connecting door into his bathroom, and when the sound of the water being turned on rang throughout his bedroom, I decided to at least try to make myself remotely comfortable. Dropping my backpack into his desk chair, I glanced wearily at his bed and took a seat.

Though I had been in Troy's room before, he had been with me at the same time, so it was different looking around it then. I started to notice the little things, like how he had a screensaver on his computer of Kobe Bryant or how he had a basketball shaped pillow on his bed. There was something personal about being in Troy's room, and I wondered how many other girls had graced his private space.

That was when I remembered Lindsay's bra and underwear and immediately sprung up from the bed. EW.

Troy chose that moment to walk back into his room wearing a towel around his neck and sporting a pair of old jeans and a blue wife beater. He looked at me oddly, and I realized he had probably seen me randomly jumping off his bed.

"Why so static, Gabriella?" he asked, bringing the towel up to dry his dripping hair. "The sheets are clean."

I glanced back at the bed stupidly, then sat back down. "Well, you can't exactly blame me after . . . Well, the laundry room."

Troy laughed, and tossed his towel across the back of his desk chair where it draped over my backpack. "It's funny how you're so innocent, Gabriella."

I glared at him slightly as he sat down next to me. "What's wrong with being innocent? Just because I'm not some hormone-crazed, boy-loving idiot . . ."

Troy grinned. "What's wrong with being boy-crazed?"

I just sighed, turning away from him. Sometimes I forget how much of a playboy Troy really is. I mean, the guy I knew from the rooftop this afternoon was waaaaaay different from the guy most girls see Troy as.

"I don't have Lindsay's panties because of reason I know you're thinking of," Troy said blankly. "She came over the day before you started to tutor me, and we went into my Jacuzzi, clothed."

"You didn't have to tell me that," I whispered, turning back to Troy's impossibly blue eyes.

"Maybe I didn't want you to think that I'm as much of a sex god as everyone at school thinks."

I smiled slightly. "Touché."

Troy and I kind of grinned at each other for a few seconds, before I realized what was happening and looked away. "Anyway," I said, standing from the bed to grab my backpack. "We should probably get started, seeing as I haven't exactly been tutoring you as much as Mr. Lawrence thinks I am."

Troy groaned, flinging himself back onto his bed and running his fingers through his hair. "Darn . . ." he muttered, trailing off when I tossed a pencil at his chest.

"I think the notes you took in class today were really good when I helped you. I think that may be your problem, actually. Your notes aren't to the point and you end up having way to much to study."

Troy and I sat on his bed for the better part of two hours, going through the next section in the text book. I showed him how to use the subtitles as major points in his notes, and how usually the first and last sentences of a paragraph were always important.

"So, this would be a major point, right?" Troy asked, using his pencil to point to the words 'Louis VXI worsens France's debt'.

I turned, reading the words. It took me a second, because I still wasn't exactly used to wearing my contacts, yet. In fact, for the past hour or so my eyes had been burning slightly.

"Troy?" I asked, watching him write on his notebook paper. "Are you ever going to give me back my glasses? I know the . . . Other stuff is still being washed, but, yeah."

Troy looked up at me, and I could tell he was studying my face. I fought the urge to blush, and let me tell you, if you ever see Troy Bolton's eyes, you too would realize that it is a losing battle. "Why do you wear glasses, Gabriella? You look loads better without them."

There he went, again. Complimenting me, I mean. It was nice to have a guy compliment you, I have to say.

"I can see your eyes, now," he said softly, and the corner of his mouth turned upward.

I bit my lip, then turned back to the textbook. "Would you look at that," I finally said. "We're done."

Troy perked up instantly, and slammed the textbook shut roughly. "Seriously?" he exclaimed, a large grin gracing his gorgeous features.

Gah! I called Troy gorgeous! Okay, I am entering dangerous territory . . . I cannot begin to like Troy . . .

"Yeah, we're done," I said, then looked around his room for a clock. "Do you know what time it is? I need to make sure I get home by ten, and if I'm walking . . ."

"Gabriella, where exactly do you live, anyway?" Troy asked me as I packed up my study supplies.

"Um," I started. I didn't really want to tell him because Troy seemed under the impression that I lived only a mile or two away. "On Liberton Road."

Troy dropped the book he was handing to me on the floor. "LIBERTON? That's probably six miles away! And you walk to and from?"

"And to school."

Troy groaned. "Gabriella! Why didn't you say anything? You know what, that's it. I am now your official chauffer whether you like it or not."

I laughed, shaking my head as Troy retrieved the fallen book and handed it to me. "I'm fine with walking, Troy. It's my daily exercise, seeing as I don't play a sport. Besides," I said, zipping my backpack closed. "What would Lindsay think?"

Troy shrugged as he tossed his History notebook onto his desk. "I don't really care. She's kind of starting to annoy me, anyway."

This comment did not make me happy. It also did NOT make my heart flutter . . .

"In what way?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant.

"Well," Troy began. "I can't exactly point out specific things that she does . . . Wait, there is one. She calls me really stupid pet names."

I started to giggle at Troy's pained expression, and he grabbed one of his bed pillows and threw it at me. "Hey! It's not funny, okay? Look at this text she sent me when I was practicing basketball."

I grabbed the cell phone Troy was handing to me and read:

**Troysie! Can't wait 2 c u later. Maybe we can do that thing again . . . U, noe, where you rollerblade on ice? Anyway, ttyl, yur cupcake.**

Oh, my gosh. And I thought Lindsay was annoying before . . .

"Does she mean . . . ice-skating?" I asked in a wavering tone, trying not to burst out laughing. Then, I said cautiously, "It's not that bad . . . Troysie."

Troy groaned, grabbing another pillow and throwing it at me so hard that I dropped his cell phone. I grasped the first pillow he had thrown my way and soon we were both consumed in a ferocious pillow fight. Troy was slowly gaining a lead, however, and he somehow ended up on top of me, pinning me down on his bed. I tried my best to block his blows with my arms, but then I spotted a water bottle sitting on his bedside table. It was the kind that squirted, so I quickly grabbed it and started to spray Troy with the water.

"Hey!" Troy shouted, laughing as his hair became drenched. "That's cheating, Montez!"

I laughed as he dropped the pillow and rolled off me when I continued to spray the water in his face. "It's a strategic maneuver, Troysie!"

"Stop calling me that," Troy laughed, as the stream of water subsided.

"Darn," I muttered when I realized the water bottle was empty. I stared at Troy, who was now once again soaking wet, and giggled as he pushed a piece of his sopping hair out of his eyes.

"Thanks for the second shower, Elle," he said, grinning.

Notice the nickname? He called me . . . Elle. Usually people call me Gabi, or Gabs. But Elle? That's new . . .

"Elle?" I asked curiously as he shook his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere.

Troy looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Well if you insist on calling me 'Troysie', I think it's only fair that I get to call you a nickname as well."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call you Troysie," I admitted. "You're right, it's really annoying. How about . . ." I paused for a moment, trying to think of something.

I mean, really. What nickname can be derived from 'Troy'? I couldn't imagine calling Troy 'Roy', so I knew I'd have to come up with something that didn't really have anything to do with his name.

"Okay, I'll call you Snugglebunny."

Troy made a face. "Ewwww, you'd better be joking."

"Troysiekinns?" I laughed, watching Troy's expressions. "I'm just kidding, Troy. Your name is just hard to use for a nickname."

"Apparently it isn't for Lindsay," Troy stated darkly.

"I'm sorry," I corrected. "It's hard to find a _decent_ nickname. I'll have to think on it for a while."

"That you will, _Elle_," Troy said, emphasizing when he said my new nickname. He then walked over to his desk and dried his hair with his old towel. "We should start discussing our 'action plan' for tomorrow."

Troy and I ended up with the perfect set of rules. I glued them in here so I can look at them when I'm in class with Taylor or Chad.

**Bold** are Troy's ideas.

_Italicized_ are my ideas.

**Elle, why do you have to be so organized?**

**Stop crossing out what I write!**

_You're ruining the plain paper! Hey, you stop crossing out what I write!_

**You started it!**

_Game Plan for Troy and __Gabriella _**Elle**

_1. Snub them. _**Also known as not saying hello to them in the mornings, or whatever.**

_2. Pretend to be irritated and annoyed with them during school. _**Steal Chad's basketball and say it is a better friend then he is. **_What? _**You wouldn't understand.**

_3. When they try to talk to you, come up with an excuse to why you can't talk. _**'I'm sorry, I have a date with your basketball.' **_Again, WHAT?_

_4. Basically, let them think we are mad at them. _**Well, duh.**

_5._ **Write something, Elle. **

We decided to leave number five blank until further notice. Overall, I figure it's a very organized list of rules . . . If you blank out all the crossed out wording.

"Holy crap!" Troy exclaimed, glancing at his watch. "It's already almost eight! No wonder I'm starving!" He glanced over at me. "You have to be home by what, nine?"

"Ten."

Troy grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Even better. C'mon, lets go out to get something to eat."

Have I ever mentioned how awesome Troy's car is? Well, it's awesome. He inherited his Grandfather's black BMW convertible. I swear, it is gorgeous. I really, really wish I had a car. Even if it isn't like Troy's. Just any car.

We ended up going down to the mall and eating at a _Ruby's_. Luckily no one from East High was there, otherwise it would have looked like Troy and I were on a date, or something. And I'm sure that if anyone thought such a thing Troy wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore.

"What can I get for you tonight?" the teenaged waitress asked, and I noticed she was eyeing Troy in a flirtatious way.

"Um," Troy started, his head buried behind the menu. "I'll take a double bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles and a chocolate milkshake."

"And for you?" the waitress asked, still scribbling down Troy's order.

I looked over the menu. I was having a hard time deciding between the chicken fingers and the _Ruby _Burger. I decided on the burger and chocolate shake like Troy's, and handed my menu to the waitress.

"That's another thing I don't like about Lindsay," Troy said as he too gave his menu to the waitress.

"What's that?" I asked, leaning my chin on my palm.

"She never really eats," Troy explained, frowning slightly. "She's always worried about 'calories' and 'fat'. It's like, god, just eat something!"

"I know what you mean," I said. "I've never been one of those girls who orders a salad, or something for a meal. And if I do I always regret it because I end up being starving an hour later."

"Yeah!" Troy agreed. "Like, yesterday at lunch, all Lindsay had was a water. I hope she's not anorexic. Actually," he paused, chuckling. "She probably is, considering how thin she is."

"Whatever," I said, taking a sip of my own water. "I'd rather become fat then survive only on lettuce and diet coke."

Troy laughed just as the waitress appeared with our shakes. We continued to talk about random things. I found out Troy also disliked how unintelligent Lindsay was. When I asked him why he would even bother to date someone he found so boring, he replied, "She was hot. First impression, really."

Our burgers came a short while later, and I choked on a bite when Troy hit the glass bottle of ketchup and it splashed all over his plate.

"Damn it," he hissed. "Haven't the owners of this restaurant chain realized that squeeze bottles were invented?"

"Apparently not. Either that, or they have hidden cameras to watch their costumers struggle and ruin their food."

After a quick fight in which Troy tried to get me to scrape off some of his ketchup for my own meal and a refill each for our milkshakes, the waitress brought the check to which Troy paid promptly.

"I could have paid for my portion of the check, you know," I reminded him as we walked back out to his car.

Troy shook his head, and smiled at me. "I gentleman never lets a lady pay for her food."

I laughed, as he jokingly opened my door for me with a flourish. We drove in silence for a few minutes before Troy asked, "So what time do you usually like to be at school?"

"I don't know, 7:55 at the earliest."

Troy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and I noticed we were headed toward Liberton Road, where I live.

"Okay, so I'll pick you up around 7:40," he replied. "Which one are you?"

I looked back out the window, and realized we were nearing my house. "Number 14, the one with the balcony out front."

"Number 14, huh?" Troy asked, as we pulled into my driveway. "That's my lucky number."

I smiled as I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my backpack. "I would never have guessed," I answered sarcastically.

"See you tomorrow, Elle."

I opened the door and stepped outside onto my driveway. "And you, Troysie."

"Don't make me come out there and hit you!" Troy shouted at my retreating back.

I just shook my head and opened my front door, waving as he drove away into the darkness. My Mom was standing by the door, watching me as I closed it.

"Who was that?" she asked, referring to Troy.

"Oh," I shrugged, giving my Mom a 'hello' hug. "That was just Troy."

"A boy?" My Mom asked with a slight smile.

"Just Troy," I repeated, then heaeded up the stairs to my bedroom.

I'm now standing on my balcony, looking out into the sky. I can't exactly explain what I feel for Troy. I don't hate him anymore, that's for sure. We're friends . . . As of right now, anyway. Troy would never in a million lifetimes like me as more than that. Even if I'm wearing his 'East High School Basketball Captain' hoodie. Hey, until he gives me back my clothes, I plan on getting a good use out of his.

A/n: Hope you liked this one! Once again, preview for the next chapter is in my blog. Link to my blog is in my profile.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry I'm a day or two late, everyone! I've been kind of sick, ironically as you will soon see.

* * *

September 28, 2007. My bedroom, 10:27 PM. 

I keep rolling over in bed and accidentally getting a whiff of Troy's cologne which is still lingering around the hood of his sweatshirt. Don't get me wrong; it smells REALLY freaking good . . . Like a cross between an Abercrombie and Fitch store and something else, which is probably Troy himself. However, it's keeping me awake. I really need a good sleep, too, because of the lack of it last night. Not to mention I think I have a headache building up along the bridge of my nose.

September 28, 2007. My bedroom, 11:04 PM.

At this moment I'm wondering how a simple hoodie can smell so good and yet NOT be able to calm me to sleep. Okay . . . Sleep.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleeeeee

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 12:22 AM.

I bet you think I fell asleep, seeing as I didn't finish my train of thought. I really wish I had fallen asleep, but instead the true story is that the pen that I have been using for the past few days in this diary has _finally_ run out of ink. It's so sad . . . Bye-bye pen.

I wish I can say goodbye to my headache.

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 1:16 AM.

I CAN"T FIND THE FREAKING TYLENOL! WHERE IS THE FREAKING TYLENOL?????????????????????????

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 2:58 AM.

Pain . . . Oh, so much pain . . .

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 3:24 AM.

I think I need a head transplant considering the fact that some invisible force is slamming a hammer against my head and my throat is on fire.

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 5:09 AM.

My Mom just came in a few minutes ago claiming that she had heard me digging around in my room. I was searching for the Tylenol again, which is really hard to do when the light makes your head pulsate. However, as soon as she saw my face she rushed over and ushered me back into my bed, where I now reside.

"Oh, Gabi, Honey, you look terrible!"

"Thanks, Mom," I replied bitterly, hating how every word I said made my head ach even more. "Do you know where the Tylenol is?" I asked weakly, allowing myself to be pushed into my bed.

My Mom looked wearily to my bedside table where a bottle of the pills stood, innocently mocking me. "Oh," was all I said as she handed me my savior and a glass of water.

"Gabi, you are NOT going to school today. I'll just call into the office tomorrow and tell them you're sick. Now, I still have to go to work today but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

My Mom obviously does not care about my perfect attendance at East High. But when I tried reasoning with her, she simply shushed me and rubbed my temples. It felt SO good. And then when I opened my eyes she was gone and my lights were turned out. My Mom is a true genius, I tell you. A Mastermind.

September 29, 2007. My bedroom, 7:43 AM.

Someone is knocking on the sliding door of my balcony. UHHHHH, they woke me up!!! They are so going to pay, and -- wait. SOMEONE IS KNOCKING ON MY DOOR? What if it's a cereal killer?! I can't protect myself in this weakened, sick state!

September 29, 2007. Homeroom, 8:13 AM.

It's okay. The mass murderer turned out to be Troy. I had completely forgotten that he offered to drive me to school today . . . I also forgot that I was donning his sweatshirt. Ahem . . .

So, anyway. My head was kind of still in a dull pain, so I guess I didn't notice that I was wearing Troy's hoodie and this pair of REALLY short shorts that I NEVER wear. It figures that the only time I didn't have clean, conservative pajama bottoms is the day Troy decides to climb up to my balcony.

I ended up dragging myself to our hall closet and digging up a baseball bat. I must have looked really funny wearing a boy's basketball sweatshirt, sluty shorts, my hair flying in its usual curliness, and my hands clutching a baseball bat. Really, I should have looked in a mirror, or something. Instead I just crept up to my sliding door and pulled the curtain back, my other hand gripping the bat so hard my knuckles were white. I probably jumped a foot in the air when I glimpsed Troy's blue eyes and shaggy hair from behind the glass. He started to laugh, which made me mad as I slide the sliding door open.

I wanted to say, "I could push you off this balcony, you know!" but when I started to speak, my voice broke and trailed off. I was basically forced to watch as Troy struggled to breathe through his bursts of laughter. _Good_, I thought, _I hope he chokes on his own saliva_.

"Oh, shit," Troy finally gasped, gripping the railing of my balcony to help him stay standing. "If you had only seen your face, Elle."

I glared at him and playfully pulled the bat back as if to swing. Troy grinned, then I noticed his eyes were kind of roaming up and down. I'll admit for a split second I thought he was checking me out like Chad had done with Taylor. But then Troy said, "Is that my sweatshirt?" and my hopes were stashed. I set the bat down on the ground.

Remember, Gabriella. Toy Bolton will NEVER, EVER like you in that way.

I stood, feeling his blue eyes study my attire, trying to pull the hem of my shorts further down my legs. Then I nodded and grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt and started to pull it off when Troy pushed it back down.

"You look sick, Elle. Is that why you're not ready for school? I mean," he studied my pajamas once again. "I could be wrong, but I've never seen you wear anything remotely this . . . Um."

"Sluty?" I finally managed to croak, then groaned as a wave of pain fell across me.

Troy shrugged, smiling slightly. "You couldn't be sluty even if you tried, Montez. That's more Lindsay's department. Oh, by the way, I'm ending things with her today."

"Well, that's good," I said quietly. "No more phoniness, no more sappy texts . . . You can tell me all about it when I tutor you later today."

"Oh, no," he said, pulling open my sliding door. "Gabriella Montez missing a day of school? If I don't usher you out, I'll never hear the end of it."

Troy pushed me into my bedroom, and I was glad that it was clean, save my unmade bed. He made his way over to my closet and hoisted the door open, grabbing a pair of my jeans. "Just put these on, you can wear my sweatshirt for the day."

I was still in a haze, so I just took the jeans and walked into my bathroom to change. In an attempt to make myself feel better I brushed my teeth and splashed water onto my face. It didn't really work, but I liked to think that it did. After that I slipped off my shorts and replaced them with the jeans Troy had given to me. I didn't feel like pulling my hair up because of my headache, so I just left it down in it's wild curls.

When I appeared back in my room, Troy was examining the pictures on my dresser. "Who's that?" he asked, and I stepped forward to study the photograph he was pointing to. It was a picture of my Dad and I, before he and my Mom divorced. I was seven, and we were both laughing into the camera, eating ice-cream cones.

"It's my Dad," I said softy. "My parents are divorced, and my Mom received full custody of me."

"I'm sorry," Troy stated, turning away from the picture.

I shook my head. "Don't be."

We stood, looking at each other for a moment before I turned and grabbed my backpack. I hesitated before grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and stuffing it into the front zipper. Having any kind of drug, even as harmless as Tylenol, was against the rules at East High.

"Ready to go?" Troy asked me as I pulled on my shoes.

"Yes, but I still feel crappy," I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Let's leave before I get the urge to crawl back in bed."

"I constantly fight that urge in the mornings," Troy replied cheekily, and I lead him through my house and down the stairs.

"How did you know my room was the one with the balcony attached to it?" I asked as we stepped into my kitchen. "For all you know, it could have been my Mom's room."

"There were no cars in the driveway for one, and as for knowing it was your balcony, it just seemed like you to have one."

I'm not even going to try to read into what Troy meant by that. I'm just going to stick with him thinking I'm outdoor-sy, or something.

"Are you going to eat anything?" Troy asked as my hand reached for the knob of my front door. "I know you probably aren't hungry, but you might be later."

I shook my head. The thought of food made my stomach do a summersault. "Nah, I think I'm okay for now."

I think I may have fallen asleep on the short ride to East High, because it felt like we were just climbing into his BMW and then I blinked and Troy was parking his car in the student parking lot. My head was still spinning, and I tried not to stumble on the walk to the school's entrance.

"Well," Troy said as we walked up the steps of East High. "I'll be seeing you in class. Right now I have to find Lindsay."

I just nodded, not even capable of speaking anymore. Troy didn't notice, however, and he was already pushing through the doors. It was now that I really noticed how differently Troy acted at school and how he acted when it was just us together, alone. He's probably embarrassed to be seen with such a geek like myself.

Troy and I were a tad on the late side because of our episode on my balcony, so I only had ten minutes to get myself situated and into my homeroom. What I really needed was twenty, because of my sick state. I think it took me five minutes just to get to my locker because I was walking so slowly. Not to mention everyone roaming the halls were staring at me oddly for some reason. I almost wanted to be all, "I know I'm not a pretty sight, but back off!" By the time I finally was able to drag myself into homeroom, the bell was ringing just as I was taking my seat.

"Well, class," Ms. Brown said in a tone that made by temples pound. "You know what to do! Get with your partners and study, study, study!"

Ew, she's almost as bad as Ms. Darbus. The two should compete in a contest to see who is the most chipper in the early hours of the day. Oh, well. At least I can just sit here and rest for the entire period.

Lindsay and Troy aren't here. That's odd . . . Oh, wait. He's probably breaking up with her right now. Maybe if the class was actually quiet for once, I might be able to here the dulcet tones of Lindsay sobbing her eyes out. Okay. That was a little mean, even for me.

UGGGGGGGGG. My head and stomach AND throat hurt!!!! Hey, Uggs! I want a pair for Christmas this year . . . And a bottle of supernatural pills that can take away all symptoms of sickness in less than thirty seconds. Wouldn't that be nice? A panacea.

Okay, Shannon Clinton is looking at me weirdly, just like the people in the hallway. I don't know if you remember, but Shannon is the one Troy had a date with the first night I went over to his house to tutor him. And yes, I'm assuming he was dating Lindsay at the same time. Gosh, Troy is such a player. Shannon has now progressed to glaring at me when she noticed that I noticed she was staring at me. Whoa. My head started to spin faster.

What is going on? Now even Kelsi and Martha are looking at me like I have something gross hanging off of my face. Okay, just checked my face using the little mirror I keep in my backpack. Other than looking a little pale and with slight dark circles under my eyes, I look fine. Ironically better than usual because I never wear my hair down. I should do that more often.

Wow, even Chad is looking at me. That's weird in it's own way, considering he _never_ looks at me, not even to ask, "What's the homework?" Taylor on the other hand is avoiding my gaze. Whatever. As soon as she apologizes, I'll be up to talking to her again.

Oh. My. Gosh. Lindsay just stormed through the door, almost shutting it behind her in Troy's face. She walked right past Ms. Brown's desk and huffed all the way to her seat, where she sat and threw her purse to the floor. Troy walked up to Ms. Brown's desk, muttered 'sorry' for being late, and made his way to the seat next to Lindsay's.

"Try not to be late again, you two, or I'll no choice but to give you both a tardy," Ms. Brown said in response to the two student's lateness. Typical substitute, always overly nice and forgiving. It's either that or Boot Camp Sergeant . . .

And now Lindsay just turned around to glare at me. It was strange, because her eyes kind of widened when she saw me and I'm sure that if looks could kill I would be dead by now. Either that, or I'll die of whatever wretched sickness I'm suffering from right now.

"Elle!"

Troy is calling me. What could he possibly want? You know what, I'm going to ignore him for a few minutes. He left me so abruptly at the entrance to school, he can wait a few minutes until I feel like acknowledging him.

"Elle!"

I still feel crappy. Crappy enough that I would even dare to use the word 'crappy'. OW! What the-- he threw a wad of paper at my face. Troy freaking chucked paper ball at my face!

_Elle-_

_C'mon, are you that sick that you can't hear me shouting your name? I need you to be my new partner. Everyone else is taken, and I can't be with Lindsay anymore._

Wow, he sure knows how to make a girl feel special . . . NOT. 'Everyone else is taken'. Thanks, Troy. Now I know how much I mean to you.

_Can't you see that I'm to preoccupied with my own partner? It's your own fault that you chose Lindsay in the first place._

Hehe. Take that, Bolton! Even if I want to crawl in bed right now, I can't help but feel pleased with my awesome throw of the paper. It hit Troy straight in the back of the head! When I'm not lying on my deathbed, I should think about joining some sort of sport. Okay, fine. I'm sitting at my death desk. Whatever. Eh, here come's Troy's reply.

_Pretty please with whatever your favorite candy is on top? Besides, your partner can't possably be that diary which is the ONLY thing near you right now._

Troy really is a complete dork. How in the world is he popular again? Oh, right. He's East High's hot god.

_You spelt 'possibly' wrong._

And here goes Lindsay, staring up a storm again. What is her problem? Or, really, what is everyone's problem?

_Elle-_

_Oh, c'mon. I'm coming over to sit next to you, anyway._

Uh Oh. And, here he comes. Haha, you should see the look on Lindsay's face. Troy was all, "So, you're not my partner anymore, okay?" Then Lindsay's jaw dropped as she watched him come over and scoot his desk right next to mine. Wow, she is maaaaaaaaaad.

Oops, got to go, otherwise there's a risk Troy could read this and see that I called him a 'Hot God'. Yipes!

September 29, 2007. Chemistry, 10:22 PM.

As soon as Troy and I said goodbye after homeroom, I started making my way back to my locker. It took me about three out of our five minute passing period to get there, so I knew I had to really book it if I didn't want to be late. English is my first period, then Chemistry, then Spanish, then History. After Lunch, I have Physics AP and then lastly and CERTAINLY least, I have Physical Education. But, anyway. I was just grabbing my English binder and textbook when someone approached me and slammed me into the closed locker beside my own.

My head hurt enough before it hit the lockers with a crack, but that's okay. NOT. The mystery person dropped me to the ground, but as soon as I turned around, my back was slammed up again. The bell rang, and I knew it was just my attacker and I in the halls at that time.

"What did you do?" Lindsay practically screamed in my face.

"I don't-"

She pushed me harder into the lockers, causing my back to dig into one of the locks. "Don't say you 'don't know', because I know you did something. I have my resources!"

At this point my eyes were practically watering from the pain, but I didn't want to let Lindsay see. I pushed her off me with all my might, which caused me to fall to the floor. Luckily I was able to stay standing on my feet. "I have no idea what you are talking about!"

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Troy! You made him break up with me!"

I know, right? She has got to be the stupidest person in the school if she thinks that I broke she and Troy up.

I almost started to laugh, but it made my body ach. "You honestly think Troy broke up with you because of me? Where in the world would you get that idea?"

"A friend of mine served you both dinner last night on your date!" Lindsay screamed in my face, causing me to close my eyes. "Not to mention the fact that your are wearing his Basketball Captain sweatshirt!"

Ohhhhhhh. I had completely forgotten about the fact that I was wearing Troy's sweatshirt. Well, at least it explained why people were all staring at me this morning.

"Lindsay," I started, trying to reason with her, even though I knew it would do no good. "I'm Troy's tutor. Nothing more, nothing less."

Then I gasped as she pushed me up against the lockers once more. "Then why would Troy dump me? There's no other reason to why he would even think about letting someone as beautiful as I am go!"

"Obviously you've missed the fact that beauty isn't everything. Perhaps Troy got to the part in your relationship where he saw past your looks and grasped only air."

Lindsay paused for a second, and I could almost see the cogs in her brain trying to turn and process my 'complicated' speech. However, before she was able to say anything, someone from behind us shouted in a shrill voice, "Hey, put her down, you bitch!"

Lindsay's fat blonde head was blocking my view, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of the color pink before I was released once again only to see the voice belonged to Sharpay Evans, Ice Princess and president of the Drama Club.

"Sharpay," Lindsay said in a sugary sweet tone. "Montez, here, was trying to get between Troy and I. You know, the Troy we've both loved since middle school?"

Sharpay's eyebrows rose and disappeared behind her perfect hair before she said, "Are you kidding me? I stopped liking Troy in the ninth grade after you told me he was your property."

It seems like the entire female population has liked Troy at one point or another. Except me of course, ahem . . .

"Just scram, okay?" Sharpay glared her famous icy glare until Lindsay backed away but I did notice that she only did so after shooting me one of her own glares. "Are you okay, Gabriella?" Sharpay finally asked.

"Besides being sick, I guess I'm alright," I replied, brushing my sweatshirt off.

It was strange speaking with Sharpay. We weren't exactly enemies, or anything, but we weren't best friends either. Sharpay was a part of the 'popular' crowd, and she was usually draping herself over the shoulder of Zeke Bayor, one of Troy's teammates.

"You shouldn't mind her," Sharpay said in her usual perky tone. "We used to be friends, but then she became a slut, and, well, I didn't want to head down that road." She looked at me for a minute, and I could tell she was studying the sweatshirt. "I'm glad that Troy is finally noticing there are other girls who are much better than the tramps he usually prances around with."

"Oh, um," I blushed, shaking my head slightly. "Troy and I aren't dating, or anything. I'm just tutoring him."

"Oh!" Sharpay brought a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I just saw his sweatshirt, and after what Lindsay said . . . You should know that it's kind of a basketball team tradition to give your sweatshirt to your girlfriend. I myself have been coveting Zeke's for a while."

"Troy and I are barely friends. I was sick this morning, and he came to drive me to school and--"

"He drives you to school?" Sharpay burst, cutting me off. She frowned, a smug smile gracing her face. "Are you sure you two are just friends?"

I ignored the fact that for the past few days I had been getting . . . Feelings for Troy. Because they aren't real. They WILL go away when I stop tutoring him.

"Positive," I said with a slight smile.

"Wow, you've really been having a tough week so far, huh?" Sharpay asked. "I mean, first that fight in the cafeteria yesterday with Taylor, and now this?"

I need to get used to the fact that the entire school knows about that fight, considering it happened smack in the middle of lunch.

"Yes, I wouldn't exactly call it my best week," I said softly.

"Well, if you want you can sit at my table during lunch."

I didn't even think twice, but just accepted her offer. The fact that I had no one to sit with at lunch if I wasn't sitting with Taylor hadn't occurred to me until that point. Besides, I was already fifteen minutes late for English.

September 29, 2007. History, 11: 17 PM.

_Elle-_

_What's the answer to number 10? This worksheet is bull, and I don't get it._

_**

* * *

**_

_**Lazy butt-**_

_**It's in the textbook. Try using it for once in your life.**_

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_Lazy Butt? Are you serious? That had better not be my new nickname. Even Troysiekinns is better than that one._

**

* * *

****Troysie-**

**I'm still thinking about it . . . **

_

* * *

Elle- _

_So are you going to give me then answer, or not?_

**

* * *

**

**Troysie-**

**Not. By the way, I bumped into Lindsay today . . . Literally.**

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_That must have been fun . . . She didn't exactly take things well when I told her I wasn't going to be dating her anymore. She actually attempted to slap me._

**

* * *

**

**Troysie-**

**Attempted to? What, did she miss?**

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_My excellent basketball reflexes allowed me to duck._

**

* * *

**

**Troysie-**

**Maybe I should call you Arrogant Basketball Boy.**

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_That's more Chad's style. Oh, I think I'm going to have to talk to him soon. Like, tomorrow. It's hard not talking to him when we're best buds and on the team together._

**

* * *

**

**Troysie-**

**That's fine. I'm missing Taylor too, so I guess you should be missing Chad's hair. I'm actually going to sit with Sharpay today at lunch.**

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_Yes, Chad's afro is very missable. You're sitting with the Ice Queen? You'd better not come back with blonde hair._

**

* * *

**

**T****roysie-**

**It's not right for my skin tone. **

_

* * *

_

_Elle-_

_I know, it's-- Crap! Lawrence alert!_

* * *

September 29, 2007. Librbary, 2:41 PM.

Lunch with Sharpay wasn't bad at all. She has some very nice friends, and her twin brother Ryan isn't as stupid as some people think. Actually, Kelsi sat with us today, too. She informed me that Taylor is missing me just as I miss her. I think it's good that I'm going to talk to her again tomorrow.

The only bad part about today was Physical Education. It was mile day, and my time was so bad that Coach Bolton, aka Troy's basketball Coach, dad and also PE teacher, wants me to make it up again tomorrow with the basketball team. I know, right? All I need is for the basketball team to laugh at me when I'm an entire lap behind them.

Anyway, I have to get back to my homework. Troy made me go to the Library while he has basketball practice so we can just go to his house together after school. I promised myself that we will not do anything that has nothing to do with History. I swear, the way things are going, we'll BOTH be failing that class.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Oh, and my blog is being weird right now, so I've decided that anyone who reviews will get the preview PM'd to them! Haha, see you next week! 


	7. Chapter 7

September 29, 2007. Library, 3:04 PM.

It's only been about twenty minutes since I last wrote in here. In that time span I finished ALL of my homework. I even drew up a study chart for Troy so he'll know when all the tests, quizzes, and projects in History are due to happen. Now I'm just sitting here . . . Bored and alone.

Okay. Troy's basketball practice ends at 4 o'clock. That means I have roughly an hour to do something. Hmmmmm.

OH. MY. GOD. I did NOT just draw a heart with a certain basketball player's name in the center. I wasn't even paying attention, I was kind of just . . . Drawing. It was certainly unintentional. This does not mean anything at all. It could just mean . . . I'm in love with Troy's abs, or something. Which is perfectly acceptable, considering they're all six pack-ish . . .

Oh, who am I kidding. I. Like. Troy. Bolton. There! I said it, okay? It's not like it's a bad thing . . . Okay, so there's like, a zero percent chance that someone like Troy would even THINK about liking someone like me. The whole 'nerd and jock' thing just doesn't compute. Although it seems to work for Taylor and Chad . . . You know what? Forget it. This entire page that I just wrote was never written. Certain objects were _never_ drawn.

I wish I was more like Taylor. She's confident, pretty, and, well . . . I'm sure that after dating Chad for as long as she has been, she's probably WAY more experienced then I am in certain . . . Areas of a relationship. I honestly don't think a single guy in this entire school would ever bother looking at me, let alone date me! And I'm sure I've mentioned this one thousand times . . . Especially since I started to get to know Troy. It's just . . . I feel so unconfident. Like I'm not good enough for anyone, even myself.

I need a change. And not a change in my personality, because I would never stoop so low as to change the true _me_ in favor of men. But something simple like, I don't know. I haircut. Maybe a new shirt that isn't actually from the men's department. But, really. How could I ever think about something like that when I know next to nothing about fashion?

Er! All this thinking is starting to make me dizzy . . .

September 29, 2007. Library, 3:46 PM.

I think my medicine that I took this morning is wearing off. I really don't know what happened. One minute I was writing in this diary, and the next my head started to swim. And now . . . Well, I woke up face down on the library table more than a half an hour later.

I haven't exactly been able to life my head without it spinning, so I'm sorry if my writing is messy; I'm writing without looking at the paper, so for all I know I'm writing diagonally across the page.

Whoa! Okay, this isn't normal . . . It's not normal to see spots, is it? Ahhh. They're floating. Around and around and around. Red. Green. Blue. Black . . .

September 29, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:09 PM.

It's been a terribly long day. First people at school stare at me. Then I almost get beaten up by Troy's ex-girlfriend. Then I find out I have to run tomorrow with the basketball team. And _then_ I pass out in the library. That's right. I PASSED OUT. Fainted. And you know what the worst part is? Troy came in and found me. But not just Troy. No, the entire basketball team apparently came in.

WHY?!

As if I don't look awful already with my horrible clothing and hair. But, no. They probably got a full on view of Gabriella Montez, strewn across a library table, drool dripping from my mouth. Uhg.

I barely remember anything, anyway. Sadly Troy had to fill me in on what happened on the car ride to my house. Followed by snippets from Zeke Bayor and Jason Cross who had come along for the ride. Chad was following us in his own car. Why were what Taylor would call 'Lunkheaded basketball players' coming to MY house? Well, here's the entire story, starting in the library.

I wasn't exactly having a dream. Is that even possible? To have a dream when you're passed out, I mean. I don't know, but it was almost like I was floating in a blank abyss . . . Until someone started to shake my shoulders violently. The void started to clear, and a began to hear faint voices and a shuffling sound.

"Hey, one of you guys get some water! C'mon, hurry!"

"Is she okay? What's wrong with her?"

"Here."

And then a cold splash of water streamed down my face, causing my eyes to burst open. I gasped as the light temperately blinded me, but as my vision cleared I realized I was laying on the floor. The school librarian, Troy, Chad, Zeke, and Jason were all bent over me with worried expressions on their faces.

"Young lady," The librarian asked. "Are you alright? Would you like me to call your mother?"

I coughed, still trying to understand what was happening. "Why am I on the floor?"

"We came in here and found you out cold on the table," Chad answered.

I blinked hard, trying to stop the world from spinning. "Oh."

The librarian pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. "Are you sure you don't want me to call someone? Perhaps the nurse."

"No," Troy said blatantly. "I'll take her home, it's no problem."

He knelt down and grabbed me gently around my waist, then hoisted me into his arms. My head involuntarily fell against his shoulder. Yes, INVOLUNTARILY! I wish I remembered more . . . What it felt like to be in his arms, and such.

"Chad, can you grab her stuff?" he asked, arranging his arms so I was safely supported.

Chad nodded. "Sure, man."

"Does this mean we aren't getting tutored, too?" Jason asked randomly.

Zeke gave Jason a look and walked over to help Chad gather my things. I watched them over Troy's shoulder as he walked out of the library with Jason in tow.

"So, are you ok?" Troy asked as we headed down the school corridor.

"Yes," I answered. "I think I'm okay, now."

"So, uh, my friends from the basketball team heard you're tutoring me." He paused as if waiting for me to say something. When I didn't, he went on, "Would you mind, like, tutoring them as well every once in a while? I mean, not everyday like you do me, but maybe once a week?"

I started to giggle. "Wow, you basketball players really aren't that bright, are you?"

"Hey!" both Jason and Troy shouted in offense.

I literally had forgotten Jason was behind us until that moment. Maybe the smell of Troy's cologne being so close to my nose hypnotized me, or something.

"Hey, Jase? Can you open the door for me?"

And now I hadn't noticed we were standing right outside of Troy's car. I don't know what was wrong with me. I'm much better now, but then? I wouldn't have noticed if Chad ran out of the school naked screaming, "I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world!" I'm sure Taylor would notice though, ahem.

Troy carefully deposited me into the passenger's seat of his car and helped me buckle my seatbelt. By then my head had stopped spinning and my vision was fully focused. All I remember is turning my head and looking up into Troy's eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up, and he closed the door with a snap.

I can't deny it any longer. Even when I kind of admitted it earlier, before I passed out, I can't lie to myself anymore. How could I have fallen for the one person who could never return my affections? The one guy that someone like me could never have.

We ended up at my house for some reason. Why Troy, Chad, Zeke, and Jason -- pretty much the most popular guys in school -- would want to be around me is over my head, but whatever. Apparently Troy had mentioned to them about my tutoring abilities and they had wanted a little extra help with various subjects as well. But when we arrived at my house, Troy made me lay down on the couch and said something like, "You're in no shape to tutor four guys right now, Elle."

So then the jocks basically ended up raiding my refrigerator and then a heated discussion followed regarding which movie we were going to watch. Seriously. A week before now if somebody told me I would be hosting a group of basketball guys and watching _Wedding Crashers_ with them, I would have taken said person to a hospital. It was really a weird couple of hours, I --

_Isabella --_

_Accidentally read part of this book. We need to talk ASAP._

_--Chad._

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!

September 29, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:24 PM.

AND MY NAME IS NOT 'ISABELLA'!!!!!!!!!!!!!

September 29, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:39 PM.

I can't believe Chad read my diary. Chad Danforth freaking read my diary. The book of my most guarded secrets. And the worst part is that I don't even know which part he read! Does he know I don't like his hair? Oh, wait! Does he know I like Troy??!!!

This cannot be happening. I mean, really. What are the odds? I knew I shouldn't have left someone as nosey as Chad to pick up my belongings in the library today. Why did I have to pass out, anyway? Why? Why? Why?

Wait, why was Chad even with Troy today? I thought Troy wasn't going to apologize until tomorrow! Uhhh, I'm so confused.

My Mom just came in my room asking why half the contents of our refrigerator is missing. I told her I had a few friends over. Apparently they demolished half a turkey, an entire package of hotdogs, and seven fudge bars. LUNKHEADED BASKETBALL PLAYERS!

I miss Taylor.

September 30, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:47 AM.

Just remembered that I have to run with the basketball team tomorrow. Maybe I can eat a packet of the mechanical pencil lead. It's poisonous, right?

September 30, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:51 AM.

Who was the person who decided to make 'lead' NOT made of 'lead' anymore? And why do they still call it lead??!! It should be called pseudo-lead, or something.

September 30, 2007. My Bedroom, 6:07 AM.

I woke up an hour ago and couldn't fall back asleep, so I stumbled into my bathroom for a shower. This week is just off to a horrible start, and it's only Tuesday. So now I'm just sitting on my bed, completely dressed and ready for school. And Troy doesn't come to pick me up until 7:40. UGGGH! What on earth am I going to do for the next hour and a half?

Okay, this may seem weird. But I had an epiphany. And this sudden thought is so out of my usual character that I know I must still be slightly sick. Maybe I should spend my extra time, oh, I don't know . . . Fixing my hair?

Would that just be totally stupid? Would I seem too much like Sharpay Evans if I let my hair down like yesterday, only made sure it wasn't a frizzy mess? Well, I'm going to try it. And as a compromise to myself, if my hair looks to cheerleader-ish, I'm going to slap it back into a ponytail.

September 30, 2007. My Bedroom, 7:33 AM.

Okay, I got as far as combing the tangles out of my hair when Grease came on TV, (I know. Why Grease would be on television at such an early time is beyond me.) and I couldn't just not watch it. Besides, maybe I'm not exactly qualified to try and start my own 'self makeover'. I need someone with more experience in that area of expertise. Not to mention Troy just drove up my driveway. Jeeze, he's really early today.

September 30, 2007. Homeroom, 8:11 AM.

Well, once again I find myself in homeroom with Ms. Brown and once again I'm practically the first person in the classroom. I mean, really. Troy and I arrive at the school at the exact same time and I still manage to get here before everyone else.

Oh, and I just remembered. Troy told me that he and Chad 'made up' at basketball practice yesterday before they walked in on me in the library. Of course once Troy mentioned Chad and didn't seem weird about talking to me, I realized Afro-Boy hadn't told Troy about this diary yet. Which is a great, GREAT thing. Maybe Taylor didn't pick such a bad guy after all. Oh. Taylor. I guess since Troy and Chad put their differences aside, Taylor and I should follow suite. Actually, she just walked in now.

Okay, I basically just walked up to her and told her that the guys had been over to my house yesterday and that I would like her to come over some time because she didn't eat all my food like they did. She got slightly tearful and pulled me into a hug that Troy and Chad happened to witness as they walked into the classroom.

"I didn't realize your door swung that way, but hey, it's pretty hot," Troy said as he sat down in a seat beside us. Chad chuckled and the two high-five each other.

What is it with guys? What, a girl embraces another girl and immediately they're gay? Pshh. Next time someone makes a stupid comment about two girls hugging I will mention the 'manly' hugs. Much gayer in my opinion. But at the time all I ended up replying to Troy was, "Don't be a dickfore."

"What's a 'dickfore'?" he asked stupidly.

Taylor and I giggled. This had been an ongoing joke between us for years. "Well, if you don't know by now, you're in trouble."

Chad burst out laughing hysterically and Troy smirked, rather sexily I might add. I bit my lip, blushing and trying not to regret my sexual joke. But of course Troy was going to throw out a good comeback.

'Well, maybe you can remind me, Montez," he said in a low voice that I had only heard him use with cheerleaders.

I coughed, and unintentionally started to turn redder then before, if possible. Luckily the bell rang and I was able to escape to my seat before Troy could comment further. Now, I know Troy is a seventeen year-old teenager who only thinks about sex. But, still. A part of me wants to think he actually meant what he said, and not just as a snappy reply. This annoying, little voice in the back of my mind also keeps telling me that Troy only said that because Chad told him what he read from this diary.

ERHG! I'm way over-thinking this. Oh, and this is perfect. Troy just passed me a note.

_Elle-_

_My dad told me you were running with us sixth period today. You should have told me, I would have talked him out of making you run._

_Troysie-_

What was he going to do, write up a treaty? 'I, Troy Bolton, hereby say that if Jack Bolton does not let Miss Gabriella Montez sit out of running then I will refuse to practice or play any form of basketball'.

_Troysie-_

_It's not a big deal. I have to do my part and make up for my atrocious mile time from yesterday. Besides, I couldn't just watch the entire basketball team run while I lounge leisurely in the bleachers._

_Elle-_

_But you were sick! And the bleachers are actually very uncomfortable. Lounging beyond plain sitting will result in possible death._

_Troysie-_

_I'm feeling much better today, so I should be perfectly fine. Oh, and I guess if the bleachers are that uncomfortable than I won't be gracing any of your basketball games._

Not that I've ever really been to them before, but whatever. The ones that I did show up at were surprisingly very fun. Everyone jumps up and down, screams, and chants for, well, Troy, mostly.

_Elle-_

_When a game comes around I may find myself dragging you into the gym, then._

September 30, 2007. Physics AP, 2:12 PM.

Okay. In a little over fifteen minutes I have to be changed and ready to run with the basketball team. Did I mention that basketball players are good runners? Did I mention my best mile time is only 7:42 whilst theirs is probably around 6:30 or less?

Not only that, but I forgot to pack my PE shorts in my gym bag this morning. I had to borrow Sharpay's shorts, and they shouldn't even be classified as shorts. A little smaller and they'd be underwear.

Oh, yeah. I sat with Sharpay again at lunch. But this time I dragged Taylor and Kelsi with me. Kelsi and Sharpay are already acquaintances because of the drama club, so it really wasn't a problem.

Oh, god. Bell just rang. I have to go change . . . Can I start crying yet?

September 30, 2007. Parking Lot, 3:12 PM.

I'm just waiting for troy to return from his locker. And yes, I did run the mile with the basketball team. At least I tried to, but I ended up taking a side route outside to gag into the bushes. Which was, erm . . . Here's what happened:

For once in my life I was probably the last person to enter the gym. And it wasn't because I was late; I was trying to stretch out the shorts so they'd be longer. If anything, they appeared shorter, but whatever.

I snuck past the knitted groups of tall boys and settled at the far end of the bleachers. My hope was to go unnoticed by all. I thought, I don't know, Troy and the others wouldn't see me if I stayed a few yards away. Okay, so it was a stupid assumption. Obviously someone came over to me.

So, running with us, eh, Montez?" Chad asked me.

I looked up from the shoes that I was lacing onto my feet. "Maybe I am."

Chad jumped down from the bleachers and knelt to my level, where I was sitting on the floor. "I know your secret," he said, his hair bobbing slightly.

One would think he would after accidentally reading this diary. He would have to be an idiot to not get what is so clearly written across these pages. "I know," I replied softly, not wanting anyone else to hear.

"And I can help," Chad finished sincerely.

I looked up at him, scrutinizing his face. This was the guy my best friend loved. If she trusted him, I guess I was going to have to as well.

"Okay."

I'll admit I was bursting at that point to know which secret of mine he knew. My mouth was even opening as if to enquire him when he said, "It's not a big deal, most girls at this school like Troy."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

My head whipped around to see Troy safely speaking to Zeke at the other end of the bleachers. I let out a breath of relief. "Why did you even read my diary, anyway?"

Chad at least had the decency to appear sheepish. "Well, I didn't read it per say, I dropped it and when I picked it up a saw a heart with Troy's name in the center."

I so knew that heart was going to come back and bite me in the butt! Screw the heart! From now on my favorite shape is the triangle.

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. "And how do you plan on helping me, then?"

For some reason Chad laughed. I was about to question him on his random outburst when voices came from behind me.

"Yo, Chad. Who's this chick?"

"Yeah, man, aren't you dating Taylor?"

I guess the expression on my face must have been absolutely priceless because Chad choked, seemingly on his own saliva. I turned around to see Jason, Zeke, and Troy. I know, right? As if my life wasn't bad enough with Afro-boy knowing I have a crush on Troy.

"Elle?" Troy gaped, and I couldn't help but notice his eyes slid up and down my body.

Zeke and Jason kind of stood motionless, staring at me. "Why are you wearing something that looks like something Sharpay would wear?" Zeke asked.

"I think it's hot," Jason said bluntly.

Troy frowned and punched Jason in the arm. "Dude," he warned. "So not cool."

"What?" I asked. "They're just shorts, it's no difference to what I would normally wear."

Chad studied me for a second. "Now that you mention it, those shorts really are tiny. I guess I've been going out with Taylor so much I didn't even notice."

"How could you not?" Jason exclaimed, gesturing to me.

"They're a simple clothing item!" I protested. I mean, I know the shorts were tiny, but I didn't expect anyone to notice and make such a fuss over them.

"Those _are _Sharpay's!" Zeke stated.

Chad laughed. "Yeah, you would know, Zeke."

Troy remained strangely quiet as the guys argued, but a few minutes later Coach Bolton walked in and ordered the team to gather around him. I stood awkwardly off to the side of the group huddle until Coach Bolton called my name during role.

"Okay, team . . . And Miss Montez," the coach said. "Just a simple mile warm-up, then we'll do our practice."

As soon as he said 'warm-up' I knew I was in trouble. I wanted to stab my eyes out when he continued, "And you all know the rules. We run as a team, if any member lags behind, then we run an extra lap."

The team split into groups of two, each group running behind the other. My partner ended up being Zeke, which was fine because at least I knew him. We were probably about half-way through when I really started to pant. I mean, with their long legs I was practically taking four steps for every one of theirs.

"Hey," Zeke panted slightly. "Are you okay?"

I didn't even want to talk for fear of losing energy. My head was literally spinning. Again. And I guess I should have expected it, considering I barely getting over my illness.

"Pick it up, Miss Montez!" Coach Bolton called as I slowed my pace unintentionally. "Half way point, team!"

My temples started to pound, and I had a feeling I was going to end up running with the team yet again tomorrow because of my slow mile time. At that point I almost didn't care. I had slowed so much that I was two groups behind Zeke and one in front of Troy and Chad.

"Elle?" Troy asked, not even panting a tiny bit. "Are you okay?"

"Faster!" Coach Bolton barked.

I didn't even reply. Today was worse, if possible, then yesterday in PE. Yesterday I was able to run at a pace that didn't affect my illness. Today's run was adding alcohol to the flame. All of a sudden a wave of nausea hit me, and I broke away from the pack of basketball players and ran out of the gym amidst cries from coach Bolton, Troy, Chad, Zeke, and Jason.

As soon as I pushed the gym door open, I knelt on the cold ground and gagged into the bushes. Luckily I didn't actually throw-up, but it took a few seconds for the feeling to lessen. Once it disappeared, I could actually hear yelling from the gym.

"Dad, I thought you were going to go easy on her!"

"As her PE Coach I have every right to treat her like the rest of the students!"

"Students? We're basketball players! GUY basketball players with higher endurances then a sick PE student!"

The voices hushed for a few minutes, but then the doors of the gym were pushed open to reveal a fuming Troy. He closed his eyes for a minute and the muscles in his jaw were moving.

"Sometimes I wish my Dad was just a normal Dad," he said, startling me. "That he wasn't just the hardcore coach every second of the day."

I bit my lip, getting shakily to my feet and trying to change the subject. "Why does it seem like I always almost pass out?"

Troy sighed, and the hardening stare in his blue eyes disappeared. "Almost pass out? You _really_ passed out yesterday."

"What is wrong with me?"

"You're stubborn, that's what."

There was a silence until I said what had to be said. "What are you doing out here? Don't you have practice?"

Troy shook his head. "My Dad can handle one practice without my presence. For now, anyway." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "And for now I don't want to talk to him."

Oh, I see Troy heading toward me. We're going to go to my house again because Troy obviously doesn't want to see his father. Maybe I'll even let him raid my refrigerator, because, well, he's one lunkheaded basketball player that I can't seem to say 'no' to.

A/N: Happy New Years! So sorry for the long wait, but I made it longer than usual to make up for it. The holidays got ahead of me and all the school work was piled on just before them. Expect an update soon, and please review for the preview!


	8. Chapter 8

September 30, 2007. My Living Room, 4:20 PM.

You have . . . One . . . New voice message. New Message:

Hi, Gabriella Honey. I hope you're feeling better today and that your run wasn't as bad as you were making it out to be. Anyway, I'm calling to tell you that I won't be home until Friday because of an emergency within the office. I'm really SO sorry, but if you need anything for the next three days don't hesitate to call. And Gabi, I will be home in a second if anything happens, okay? I left some money for food and such on the counter. You know the drill -- lock the doors at night and in the morning when you go to school -- and I will be home Friday evening. Love you, sweetie, I'll call tomorrow night to check up on you!

Message has been deleted.

September 30, 2007. My Living Room, 7:19 PM.

Can you believe it? My Mom is going to be gone AGAIN, leaving me home by myself AGAIN. I mean, she was gone last weekend and I almost drowned. And yes, she doesn't have a clue about my near death. But still. Does she have to overwork all the time? I swear, she's turning into a workaholic. I know she's a single mother and wants to support me well, but I'm doing perfectly fine.

Troy said our parents BOTH have problems. He was here when I played the message and also restrained me from jumping off my balcony. I guess he's right, to some extent. I wish my Mom wasn't a competitive Lawyer and Troy wishes his Dad wasn't a harsh Basketball Coach.

Oh, wait. Hang on one second.

Sorry, Troy had a question about the worksheet I made for him in the library yesterday. I know, right? We're actually studying for the first time in days. SHOCKING! However, I did order Chinese food to compensate for being such a nerd and giving Troy a hand-made worksheet.

"Elle," he had said when I fished it out of my backpack. "How the hell did you find time to make this thing?"

I shrugged, leaning back onto the couch pillows. "I did it in the library before I passed out."

Troy set the worksheet on the coffee table and stared at it for a few seconds. "But you drew diagrams."

"And?" I asked.

Troy smirked, shaking his head. "You really are a perfectionist, aren't you?" he asked, playing with his pen.

"Well," I started. "Isn't that why Mr. Lawrence made me tutor you in the first place?"

"Elle," Troy continued, still chuckling. "Is this a _map_?"

I groaned, standing up in a slight huff. "Just do the freaking worksheet, I'll order Chinese food."

I ended up just getting a little of everything. You know, something chicken, something pork, something beef. Wait, did I order a vegetable? Aw, I don't think I did.

Okay, I just exclaimed, "Darn!" really randomly, startling myself and Troy.

"Are you okay, Elle?"

Yes! I'm fine! Besides the fact that our meal tonight won't contain all the food groups. How could I remember to order egg rolls and forget the combo beef and broccoli? Wait, why am I obsessing over this?

"Yeah," I answered bluntly. "I've just gone mental."

Troy dropped his pen and turned to look at me fully. "Do you need some type of medicine, or something?" he asked.

I really don't know. What is that I've had these past few days, the flu? Not that I would go to a doctor right now, but maybe I should be taking something other than Tylenol . . . And be drinking plenty of fluids.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I probably just need to rest, or something."

Troy stared at me for a moment, unconsciously picking up his pen and chewing on the cap. His blue-eyed stare made me feel slightly queasy.

"What?" I asked. "Why are you staring at me?"

Troy made an odd clucking sound with his tongue and withdrew the pen from his mouth. "It's just, you look like crap right now."

Aw, thanks Troy. I love you too. WAIT! I didn't write that! I meant, you know, oh, forget it . . .

I coughed and raised my eyebrows. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment, because if that's your form of flattery then half the school has _really_ been exaggerating about your romantic skills."

Troy laughed, shaking his head. "No, I mean you still seem really pale. And you have dark circles under your eyes."

"Wow," I said. "_Really_ exaggerated stories, hmm?"

"Well, considering I haven't heard these stories I can't tell you whether or not they're true," he said, leaning back against the couch. "What do they consist of?"

I bit my lip, shaking my head slightly. "Why don't you just listen to half the school."

"I'm kind of hoping by 'half the school' you mean the female population," Troy said cockily.

"Sure," I muttered. "With the odd gay guy every now and then. In fact, the other day Terry Mantis said something about your 'bulging biceps'."

It's true. Terry Mantis is some weird kid with greasy hair and bug-like eyes in my Chemistry class. Not to mention he wears the same _Star Wars_ shirt every day.

"_What_?" Troy choked. "Are you freaking serious?"

"Yup," I replied easily. "And if it'll make you feel any better, I'm sure you two would make a dashing couple."

This diary narrowly avoided being sprayed with Cranapple Juice. Had the doorbell not rang, I would probably be down at Borders buying a new one right now. Okay, so I probably would have waited until tomorrow. Sue me, Diary.

September 30, 2007. My Living Room, 8:46 PM.

3. In _Huckleberry Finn_, why do the townspeople put loaves of bread with quicksilver in them by the river?

- _The townspeople believed that the quicksilver drew out dead bodies form the water._

First of all, I read Huck Finn in eighth grade. Second of all, Troy keeps looking over my shoulder trying to read my answers for this worksheet.

"Troy," I said. "We don't even have the same English class."

He shrugged, accidentally knocking over an empty Chinese food carton. "Doesn't mean we aren't reading the same book. Besides," he retrieved the carton. "I didn't have time to read the book because you were tutoring me."

He acts as if I tutor him every moment of his life. We actually haven't been studying as much as I promised Mr. Lawrence we would be. Pshh.

"Oh, please. You've had time." I paused, then said, "You could be reading right now, in fact."

Troy rolled his eyes and flung his book across the room where it landed a few feet from the television. He slung over the couch and looked at me from beneath his fringe. "Who in the right mind names their kid 'Huck Finn', anyway?"

"Someone not in the right mind," I answered flippantly.

It's conversations like the one I just had with Troy that make me think. What are we? Relationship wise, I mean. Are we friends? Acquaintances? Study buddies? Had I not begun tutoring Troy, would he and the basketball team still be ignoring me? I think . . . I think I have to ask him.

"Troy," I started, watching as he sketching something that looked like the words 'Huckleberry hillbilly' on a piece of lined paper. "Can I ask you something?"

"Technically you already did, Elle."

Idiot.

"No," I said exasperatedly. "Seriously."

Troy finally looked up, probably from hearing my tone. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I paused, trying to choose the correct wording. I mean, what was I going to say? It's a touchy subject, has been ever since the day I almost drowned in his pool. We kind of just . . . Had a silent agreement not to discuss the matter again.

"I just . . . I don't know. Why are we . . . Friends?" I asked, hoping I didn't do wrong by assuming we were at least friends.

"Why are we friends?" Troy clarified. "Because we just . . . Are. I don't understand what you're trying to ask, Elle."

"I mean, a week ago today you probably wouldn't have even waved to me in the school hallway. Heck, I'm not even sure if Chad knows my name yet." I was careful to not mention how I knew Afro-boy didn't know my correct name. _Isabella_ my butt.

"Chad is an ass," Troy said. "And I would have . . . Waved to you," he said, but I knew he was only saying it; we both know the truth.

"No," I said firmly. "Remember when I first instant messaged you? You accidentally sent a message to me that was supposed to go to Chad."

Troy shook his head, frowning slightly. "I don't --"

"It said, like 'I'm talking to that nerdy Montez girl. I think she's stalking me'."

I know the situation was serious, but for some reason when I saw Troy's face I started laughing. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, and before I could reprimand him for swearing, he said, "Gabriella, I'm so sorry. But that was before I actually knew you. I was an idiot!"

I bit my lip, trying not to smile. "Well, you _are _an idiot."

Troy got up and moved to sit beside me. "What brought this on, anyway? I thought we had established all this the day you . . . Last Sunday."

I shrugged. It was funny how he, too, didn't mention my drowning. "I guess it's just been building up. Like, yesterday everyone was staring at me just because I was wearing your sweatshirt."

"So?" Troy said. "Let them think what they want to think. I don't give a shit about what the school thinks."

And that was what I had been wanting him to say for the past few days. Minus the cuss word, of course. Hey, guys will be guys.

"Are we good?" Troy asked, smiling. "Because I think I'm starting to get hungry again."

September 30, 2007. My bedroom, 11:23 PM.

I'm not going to school tomorrow. For the first time in all my years of high school I will not be attending my classes. I tell you, Troy has really been having a bad influence on me. It was his idea, anyway. To kill my perfect attendance record, I mean. And not only that, the star of East High is also currently asleep on my couch. I'm not even kidding. He obviously has experience in sweet talking his mom, Cathy, because he also convinced her _he_ was sick. Here's the conversation:

Troy: T

Cathy: C

Me: M. Yes, I unfortunately was dragged into the discussion.

M: Troy, you can't lie to your Mom!

T: Shh, the phone is ringing.

M: But . . .

C: Hello?

T: Hi, Mom.

C: Troy?! Where have you been all night, I've been so worried --

T: MOM! Calm down, I'm fine. I'm at Gabriella's house. Getting tutored.

C: Troy, dear, it's nine thirty. What time did you plan on coming home?

T: Well, actually, I'm kind of sick. I'm just going to stay here with Gabriella because she's sick too.

C: Is her Mother okay with that?

T: Yeah, you want to talk to her?

(Troy tries to hand phone to me, I smack it away and we both have a silent argument until he holds the phone up to my ear.)

M: H-hello Mrs. Bolton. This is Gabriella's Mom, uh, Rosa.

C: Good evening, Rosa! Please, call me Cathy. Are you sure it's alright for Troy to stay with you? I can easily send out a car to pick him up.

M: (After Troy punches me in the shoulder) Erm, that won't be necessary. I assure you Troy will receive, ah, the appropriate care. It appears he has the . . . Flu. Just like my Gabriella, actually.

C: Well, as long as you're okay with it. Just as well, anyway, with the disagreement between Troy and my Husband. I do hope Gabriella is feeling better, Jack can be a bit harsh at times when it comes to training his team.

M: . . . Yes, well. Gabriella is perfectly okay . . . With the exception that she has the flu.

C: Well, then. Thank you for taking in my son so graciously, I do hope he won't be any trouble.

M: None at all. Ah, I'll hand the phone to him to bid you goodbye.

T: Okay, I love you, Bye!

C: Be polite, Troy! Don't let your sickness get the best of you!

Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah. So now I lied to Troy's mother, Cathy, who will now think she has spoken with my own Mother. Lovely, isn't it? What makes matters worse is that Troy seems to have done this whole 'I'm sick at a friend's house act' multiple times. Did he do it with his exgirlfriends? With _Lindsay?_

Ugh, maybe it's a good thing I'm staying home. I've been getting barely any sleep lately. Stupid Troy with his stupid sexiness. I'm getting some Tylenol Nighttime. Maybe it'll put me to sleep. Kitchen cabinet, here I come!

September 30, 2007. My Kitchen (With view of Living Room couch), 11:41 PM.

He took his shirt off. He took his shirt off. HE. TOOK. HIS. SHIRT. OFF. And he's just sleeping. On MY living room couch. Shirtless. Not that I can really see anything because he's covered with a throw blanket, but his shoulders are bare. Did I mention he isn't wearing a shirt?

Gosh. I wish I didn't have a crush on him. I wish all my feelings were strictly platonic like his are to me. Okay. Starting right now I will make myself stop staring at him and walk with my medicine and water back into my bedroom.

Okay. I can do this. Breathe.

Halfway to door.

OH, COME ON! He turned over in his sleep . . . And the blanket slipped off . . . Oh, shut up, diary! I'm almost positive you're a boy diary because otherwise you wouldn't be making fun of me for staring at Troy's now VERY visible six-pack. I mean, unless your door swings the other way . . .

Darn, what am I supposed to do? I can't just leave him here without having a blanket covering him. What if he gets cold? That's the worst feeling EVER, waking up to your own shivering body. I'd be a jerk if I didn't place the blanket back over him. Right? RIGHT?

Jeeze, why am I always in these situations? I must be jinxed, or something. Cursed by the evil, devious witch that wants me to suffer a life of pain and misery. Okay . . . I'm just going to tiptoe over to him, pick up the blanket, and place it over him. That's ALL.

Step one is complete. The blanket is securely in my hands. Now all I have to do is cover him with it and run like the wind back to my room. My nice, safe room.

Hmm. He looks so . . . Peaceful when he sleeps. Not at all like the little liar he really is. I guess this is what it would be like if, heaven forbid, I spent the night at his house. In his bed. I would roll over and see him sleeping serenely.

There! I did it! I put the blanket over him. Now I can just go back to my room and go to slee--

Wait . . . He just mumbled something. Okay, that can't be right. But . . .

No. He said it again. Oh, my gosh.

October 1, 2007. My Bedroom, 1:24 AM.

I know I never swear. But this _fucking_ sucks.

October 1, 2007. My Bedroom, 1:59 AM.

This is why I knew I never should have admitted to falling for him. I knew I would end up hurt. I just _knew_ it.

October 1, 2007. My Bedroom, 3:38 AM.

I can't believe he said her name. I thought they were over, but he obviously still thinks about her. DREAMS about her.

Lindsay?!!

October 1, 2007. My Kitchen, 9:12 AM.

T: Troy

M: Me

M: So, have any . . . Interesting dreams last night?

T: I don't think I really had any dreams.

Ha! That's what he thinks. Either he's lying to me or he just can't remember his dream, which really is quite common. I don't even remember my own dream, but I have a feeling it was plagued with stupid Troy and his stupid Lindsay.

You know what? I'm going to go stuff myself with Tylenol.

October 1, 2007. Troy's Car, 1:23 AM.

Okay, so I ditched that idea when Troy called me over to watch TV with him. I don't understand it. One would think that since Troy obviously still likes another girl I wouldn't continue to harbor feelings for him. But when he grabbed my arm as I tried to briskly walk past him and pulled me next to him, I just . . . I can't ignore him, you know?

We ended up watching this really cheesy movie on Disney Channel because there was nothing else on. And, okay. It wasn't the real Disney Channel, it was in the like, 200's, or something. But the movie was a movie about a bunch of teenagers in high school, so we thought, hmm, it can't be that bad.

"Okay, that guy is gay, SO gay!" Troy shouted, pounting at the blonde guy on the screen who was sporting a sequined green hat. "I wouldn't expect a guy with the name 'Lucas' to be gay. Oh, wait. Yeah, gay, definetly gay. He's _dancing_ with that blonde bitch, Ashley."

I giggled, watching as the two teenagers sang a song choreographed scarily with sequins. Oh, the sequins! "Oh, come on. You know you want to dance like them," I replied. "It's your hidden talent."

Troy snorted. "Aw, that's a load of crap, Elle. What am I, that idiot, Zac, who by the way looks like in real life he sucks at basketball?"

"Actually, I think Zac is cute," I said carefully, monitoring Troy's reaction. "I wonder who the actor is that plays him."

Troy's face remained emotionless, sadly. That is, until he said, "How can you think _he's_ goodlooking? Who the hell says, 'Her name is Vanessa . . . And she's very nice.'"

I shrugged, shaking my head. "Well, I didn't say I liked the character! I meant he has, you know, nice eyes."

Troy grimaced and turned to look at me. "Elle," he started. "Just because we established the fact that you and I are friends doesn't mean you get to talk to me all girly."

Whatever. I was really just trying to make him jealous, but all I succeeded in doing is having him say, "You know, that Vanessa girl is hot, too."

I hate boys. I really, really, really hate boys. And that has nothing to do with the fact that the sequal to the first movie came on and I got to provoke Troy even more. I still hate him though . . .

"See? I told you he had a good body!" I exclaimed, watching as 'Zac' and "Vanessa' dove into a swimming pool at a random country club.

"Oh, that is so not fair," Troy said through a mouthful of popcorn. "They make the guy shirtless, but the girl wears a conservative one-piece bathing suit."

"Well, she's innocent," I replied. "Like me. I don't even think I own a bikini."

Troy raised an eyebrow at me. "Seriously, Montez? What are you, five? Oh, wait. Even five year-olds wear bikinis."

"Ok, if I can't talk girly, you can't be . . . Manly?" I finished dumbly.

"I can't help if I'm manly, It's impossible to avoid," he replied cockily, then shouted, "Oh, my god! What the hell is this guy doing, now? He's dancing across a freaking desert . . ."

"Huh," I said. "At all costs, in the end he still has a six-pack, so hah!"

Troy laughed, throwing popcorn at the screen. "Elle, the dude just spinned around on his toes."

I was about to reply when Troy's cellphone started ringing loudly from his pocket. He gave me a slightly apologetic look before opening it and saying, "Hey, Chad."

I watched as his expression morphed into a confused look and he handed me his cellphone awkwardly. "Uh, Chad wants to talk to you."

Yup. Afro-boy wanted to speak with me. I have to admit that up to that point I had forgotten about Chad's promise to 'help me' with my problem. He said something along the lines of getting Troy to bring me to his house so we could 'talk'. Apparently he has some sort of surprise for me that he arranged at school today. Oh, great. We're here.

October 1, 2007. Chad Danforth's Disgusting Bathroom, 8:34 PM.

It seems that the following list ALWAYS happens as long as I communicate with Troy Bolton.

1. I end up in wet shirts that show my bra, short pajamas, and even shorter shorts.

2. I faint in his presence. Oh, haha. I am NOT the damsel in distress.

3. I end up in bathrooms hiding from him, scared to what he will think of me if I face him.

Okay, the last one is only true as of right now, at this moment. Because I am not only hiding from Troy in his best friend's bathroom, but I also look like anyone but myself. And that is because when we arrived at Chad's house, he told Troy he'd meet him outside to play basketball in a minute and dragged me upstairs to this very bathroom.

"This is your help?" I asked bitterly to Chad as I looked upon the blonde in front of me.

Chad shrugged, and glanced over at Taylor. "Okay, so Tay may have given me some ideas. Besides, Sharpay is the most fashion obsessed person I could think of."

Sharpay pretended to feel hurt, but then grabbed my hand, smiling. "Don't worry, Gabi. I'm only going to enhance your natural beauty."

Okay, although I really enjoy the outcome of Sharpay's work, I'm almost hoping that Troy _won't_ like me. It's confusing, really. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'd want him to like me for _me_, not my new hair and wardrobe.

"Wait a minute," I said slowly. "You ALL know I like Troy?"

Chad, Sharpay, and Taylor exchanged weary glances. "Great," I said, then sat in a chair that Sharpay was leading me into.

"Don't worry, Gabriella," Taylor said soothingly. "If all goes well, Troy will be admitting he likes you too within the next couple of hours."

Well, Chad backed out of the room and left me to spend the next four hours being pricked, plucked, pulled, and every other painful word out there. According to Sharpay, here's what happened to me in hell:

1. Newly shaped eyebrows (Ever see The Princess Diary movie? Uh, YEAH!)

2. Straightened hair and then curled delicately (Here's the part I don't get. My hair is NATURALLY curly, why straighten it only to curl it once again?)

3. A new wardrobe (Technically it's just a tight, short outfit from Sharpay with heels that want my feet to die a horrible, painful death.)

4. Make-up (Probably the only part that didn't hurt . . . Oh, wait. My eye was stabbed out with the mascara!)

Well, that completes my so called 'makeover' from hell. I'm now just sitting here, staring at myself in the mirror, wondering where Gabriella Anne Montez went. Instead I see a girl who spent four hours perfecting herself with goop and other products that make her unrecognizable to the world. And yes, I know before I said I wanted a change. And I know Chad asked for Taylor and Sharpay's help to make me look like a girl that Troy would like. But like I said before, maybe I don't want Troy to suddenly like me because of the makeup covering my face. In that case, he'd be liking me for the reasons he would crush on a common cheerleader: their short skirts and big boobs.

I just . . . I don't know what to do. Sharpay and Taylor went through all this work and all they're expecting me to do is to walk down the stairs and surprise Troy. I just hope they aren't disappointed when I don't do just that . . .

October 2, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:14 AM.

M: Me

S: Sharpay

T: Taylor

M: Guys? Hey, can you come up here for a second?

S and T: Coming!

(They both open the door and look at me with shocked faces.)

T: Gabriella? Why are you wearing your old clothes?

S: And your makeup is all gone and your hair is in a pony tail . . . Chad said you wanted to make Troy like you.

M: I know, you guys. And thanks for helping me, but . . . If Troy was ever to like me, I want to make sure he likes me for me, you know?

(Both surprise me with a hug.)

T: I knew Chad was just being an idiot when he asked us to make you over! Typical guy . . .

So Troy never saw my 'new' look, although the look on Chad's face when we all went down stairs was priceless. I think what made it all worth while was when Troy said, "Hey, Elle, where've you been all night?"

And that was when I looked like _me_. Me, myself, and I! Wow, that didn't just happen . . . But, anyway. I'd better get to sleep, right now. I'm kind of thinking I'll have to make up my mile tomorrow . . . Again. Only this time, I'm doing it without Sharpay's shorts.

October 2, 2007. My Bedroom, 12: 22 AM.

And I am so going to Troy's house tomorrow instead of mine. He STILL owes me my bra and jacket . . . Ah, well. Guess this means I'll have to wear his sweatshirt again. TeeHee.

**

* * *

A/N: Snaps to those who can guess which movies I was making fun of, lol. I just want to let you know that I LOVE HMS, and if I offended anyone with my making fun of it, I'm sorry. Also, I hope you won't get disappointed with the fact that Troy doesn't see Gabi when she is 'made over'. I just think it isn't in her character to want to change her ways for a guy, even if he is Troy. But don't worry, her time will be coming shortly. For those of you who forgot, I dance is coming up within a few days . . . Please review, and you'll get next chapter's preview! See you next weekend!**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Content in this chapter is slightly inappropriate with sexual references and teenaged content.

* * *

October 2, 2007. Homeroom, 8:26 AM. 

_As Ms Darbus has just informed me that her emergency will be taking longer than she originally expected, she has given me this small project to preoccupy your time._

As if high school wasn't time consuming enough without stupid ten-point projects. You know, the ones that if you miss more than two points your grade is a 'C'? _Yeah_.

_Your assignment is to make up a list of fifteen things that mean the most to you and explain why you chose to put them on your list. It could be anything from a sport, a family member, or even a pet. The assignment is due Monday, October 5._

Oh, gosh. What am I supposed to put on MY list? My mom? I mean, it's not like I have a sport, or anything. And I can't say Troy because what if we have to read the lists aloud? Ugh, my list is going to have stupid things like chocolate and soap on it. Electricity and beakers. Oh, I know! The all-time winner! Orlando Bloom! I can see it now: I choose Orlando because his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bloom, were so kind enough to have sex and in the process creating such a beautiful man specimen. Pu-lease . . .

Oh, hang on. Troy just tossed me a note.

_Elle- _

_Just glanced over and happened to spot the word 'sex' in your diary. I thought you were innocent, Montez._

Figures that the one word he sees pertains to his hormones. He sees _that_ before he sees the part about me wanting to put him on my list. Hold it . . . I just thought of a wonderful idea. It will prove that all males are pigs with one-track minds. Watch this. Troy will be throwing me a note any second now . . .

_**SEX**_

Five . . . Four . . . Three . . .

_Elle-_

_Are you sure those panties I showed you at my house aren't yours?_

I hate him. No matter what I do he always seems to end up on top.

_Elle-_

_On top? What the hell are you talking about?_

I rest my case. All I have left to say is 'thank god it's Friday'.

October 2, 2007. Chemistry, 9:08 AM.

So today has been off to a good start. NOT. Besides the fact that I myself had to call the attendance office pretending to be my mom was bad enough. But then Troy and I had to go back to his house so he could shower and change his clothes before school. It also meant we woke up around five so we'd be able to get to school on time.

When we walked into his house, Troy told me I could help myself to something in the kitchen or ask a maid to make me something (which a refused to do, even though Hannah, the maid Troy was referring to, insisted that her pancakes had won the Albuquerque cook off last year). So I was sitting at the same bar Troy and I had graced last Saturday and nursing a bowl of cheerios when Jack Bolton walked into the kitchen.

I know, right? AWKWARD! I don't think he really noticed me at first because he just started making a pot of coffee. I just sat, spoon full of cheerios halfway to my mouth, watching as Mr. Bolton turned to throw away the old coffee filter. He glanced at me with a questioning expression to which I responded by shoving my spoon into my mouth.

"Miss Montez?" he asked, dropping the filter into the trash. "How are you feeling today?"

The fact that he wasn't surprised to see one of his female students sitting in his kitchen on a school day reminded me that Troy probably had girls over at all hours of the day. Yet _another_ wonderful aspect of my day so far.

"Erm, I guess," I said, looking into my cereal bowl. The cheerios seemed to have formed the shape of a seahorse.

"Good, good," Mr. Bolton replied, pressing the _start_ button on the coffee machine. "So you will be playing softball today with the rest of your PE class?"

I touched the design in my bowl with my spoon until it turned into a shoe. "Sure," I said, trying not to sound completely unenthused about playing softball. "Um, I'm just going to go, ah, to the bathroom."

Mr. Bolton nodded as I dropped my bowl into the sink and turned on my heel, heading for Troy's room. Where else was I supposed to go? Knowing my luck I would end up in another awkward situation with Troy's mom, Cathy. So I just walked down the hall, gazing at the occasional picture on the walls of Troy riding his first bike, or something. Luckily his door was open, so knocked softly on it before I heard Troy say, "Come in."

He was sitting on his bed, pulling his _Vans_ onto his feet. "Hey, Elle. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," I replied, shivering slightly because Troy's window was open. I had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt that morning in the rush to get to Troy's house. And of course, it had to be inhumanely windy this morning.

Troy glanced at me, running a hand through his wet hair. "Aren't you cold? It's like, what, sixty degrees outside?"

Well, _he_ was wearing his varsity letterman jacket, how would he know it was cold? I myself was stuck in jeans and a random shirt my mom had given me for Christmas the year before. To me it felt like it was only fifty degrees.

"I'm okay, Troy," I said, crossing my arms. Troy didn't buy my weak attempt at lying, so he stood up and started digging through his closet. "Wait, what are you doing?" I asked stupidly.

"Getting you a jacket," Troy replied, his voice muffled slightly behind his clothes. When his face reappeared, he tossed me a deep blue _Nike_ jacket. I immediately recognized it, because Troy had worn it countless times.

"Can't you just give me the jacket that I left here on Sunday?" I asked, remembering the winter jacket that I had shed in Troy's backyard. "I mean, it seems like I'm lessening your supply of sweatshirts and jackets every time I come over here."

Troy grinned, grabbing his backpack from his desk. "I don't feel like looking for it, so just wear mine." And then, as we were making our way down the hall, he added, "Besides, they look better on you then me, anyway."

I don't understand his statement. Troy is like, twice the size of me, so his jacket is overly large. I do like the color, though. Not to mention it smells just like his sweatshirt, or his cologne. The only problem is that Lindsay, who happens to be in my chemistry class as well as homeroom, will NOT stop staring at me. I mean, Jeeze! Does she have an inventory of every single one of Troy's clothing items? I get that the sweatshirt was obvious because Troy is the only basketball captain. But this jacket? Someone at this school could have the same one. I'm sure Troy's not the only guy out of seven-hundred students that wears _Nike_ clothing.

Oh, great. My Chemistry Teacher, Mrs. Martinez, just informed us that we're going to the computer lab to research history of the mole. What's so interesting about it? I have three known facts about it right off the top of my head:

1. Its actual value 6.02 x 10 to the 23

2. It's so large, only molecules or atoms can be associated with it in chemical equations

3. NO ONE CARES ABOUT ITS HISTORY

See? I don't need to research it at all. I think that this information alone is just enough to write a five hundred word essay.

October 2, 2007. Computer Lab, 9:17 AM.

Apparently there's a lot more to the mole according to Mrs. Martinez, so I'm stuck here looking up its history on _Google_. Wait, what the heck? I just typed in 'the mole' and a whole bunch of stuff came up about some game show. I guess Mrs. Martinez was right. There _is_ a lot I don't know about Chemistry. Ahahahaha . . . This can't be right. I'm going to go ask Mrs. Martinez what I'm supposed to be looking for.

Oh. I was supposed to type 'the mole' and then 'unit'. Whatever. I'll just- Wait. I left my computer on _Google_, and now there's another minimized window. Maybe it's a pop up, or something. I'll just exit out of it.

OH. MY. GOD. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS WEBSITE?

_**The Official Troy Bolton Website: Featuring Anything and Everything That Has To Do With East High's Favorite Junior**_

Where did this come from? It's unbelievable . . . There's a complete biography about him, dating back from kindergarten to now. What the heck? Oh, my . . . I'm almost afraid to click on the section marked 'pictures'.

Who would make something like this? Who would be so attached to Troy, its almost stalker-ish. There's a picture of him sleeping . . . A picture of him as a five year old . . . Ech, a picture of his dirty boxers? I think the worst part is the captions beneath them. They're so intimately invading Troy's privacy! Wait . . . There's a picture of me and him walking to his car . . .

_Caption: Troy and moi walking to his car. _

**WHAT?!** I didn't make this website!!!!!! And I don't even speak French! Who says that, anyway? This is moi . . . Ugh, I can't even write it without feeling like an idiot! Oh, god. I just looked around the room. Every single computer screen is on this website . . .

Wait. Lindsay is looking at me oddly. Then again . . . So is everyone else. But Lindsay's expression is different. It's almost as if she's . . . satisfied? Oh, no way. NO WAY.

"Mrs. Martinez?" Lindsay asked sweetly. "Isabella and I have to use the ladies room."

No, I don't. What is she getting at? And of course Mrs. Martinez didn't even notice that there is no one in her class that is named 'Isabella', so she just went, "Okay, be back soon, Dears."

And now Lindsay is heading my way with the world's largest smirk on her face. I don't even have to ask who made the website. I just want to know why.

October 2, 2007. History, 11:31 AM.

Troy doesn't know, yet. I can tell because he's still talking to me. I can also tell he knows something must be up because everyone is staring at him and occasionally snickering. I don't know what to do. The entire school thinks _I_ made that horrible website about Troy. When he finds out he is going to _hate_ me. Possibly even more than he did before we became friends. And it's all thanks to Lindsay.

She had come up to me, grabbed my arm, and dragged me out into the school hallway. Then, after making sure nobody was around, she said, "So, what do you think of _your_ website?"

"My website? I didn't make that, you did!" I said angrily, wondering what I had done to deserve what Lindsay was doing to me.

Lindsay laughed, flipping her perfect blonde hair. "Oh, whatever. Everyone thinks you made it, and that's all that matters. Besides, I didn't make it either."

This was news to me. If Lindsay didn't create the website, then who did? But then Lindsay said, "I just tempted a computer club nerd and he did everything I said. He even made the website pop up on all the computers in the lab."

Of course. I didn't know much about computers, how could _Lindsay_ create such a complex webpage?

"It's weird," Lindsay continued, eyeing her manicured nails. "Even nerdy guys like sex."

I gapped at her, struggling to come up with a sentence, even a word. But Lindsay continued to surprise me with her stereotypical antics.

"There is only a week until the school dance, _Montez_," Lindsay sneered at me. "And with the reputation I've now given you, there's no WAY anyone would take you to it. Especially Troy."

"Why are you even doing this, Lindsay?" I asked, embarrassingly close to tears. "I have nothing that you would want!"

Lindsay frowned, shaking her head. "You don't get it, do you? Right now, you have EVERYTHING I could want." She paused, chuckling softly. "Well, that is you _had_ everything. Not when word gets around to Troy . . ."

Rumor making bitch, right? I just hope that when her idiotic ploy gets around, maybe no one will believe it . . .

But I completely know everyone already thinks I made the website. And this was all because she thought Troy and I were dating, or something. She thought he was taking ME to the dance. ME, of all people! As if my school life couldn't get any worse . . .

"Troy and I aren't together, Lindsay! He doesn't like me that way!" I said, still fighting back tears.

Lindsay shook her head. "Then why are you wearing his jacket? And why does he let you wear his sweatshirt?"

I couldn't even answer. I _don't_ know why Troy lets me wear his clothes. And I'm sure I'll be returning them as soon as Troy finds out what I supposedly created.

"I warned you, Isabella," Lindsay said scathingly. "I _will_ get Troy back. And you, you'll go back to where you where before. A _nobody_ that everyone hates."

And then she turned to go back into the computer lab, leaving me standing alone in the hallway. I didn't even want to go back inside, so instead I headed for my locker and sat on the floor until the bell rang. My next class was terrible; everyone was glaring at me and I heard whisperings like, "What a weirdo" and "Stalker" and even "Slut". ME. People were calling me, Gabriella Anne Montez, the girl who practically wears a chastity belt, a slut!

I'm just going to have to tell him. I have to tell Troy before someone else does . . . I just can't do it here, in front of the entire History class. When the bell rings, I'll grab his arm and bring him up to rooftop with all the flowers. And I'll tell him.

October 2, 2007. Girl's Bathroom, 12:36 PM.

It's official. Today is the worst day EVER. Worse then when I found out I had to tutor Troy, worse than when I nearly drowned, and worse than finding out Taylor had lied to me.

I didn't get to tell Troy. As soon as the bell rang, he sprung up and disappeared into the throng of hungry students before I could even say his name. I tried to chase after him, but slowed down under another wave of glares and comments. It was horrible, and when I finally reached the cafeteria, I spotted Troy sitting with Chad, Taylor, and the rest of Troy's friends. They were all gathered around Taylor's laptop, Chad clicking away while everyone wore shocked looks on their faces.

And then, it seemed as if everyone knew I had stepped into the cafeteria. Word traveled visibly through the clique tables, stopping at the basketball team and causing Troy to look up from the screen.

His expression caused me to take a step back in shock. It was a mixture of betrayal, horror, and anger. I couldn't stand to see him looking at me like that any longer, so I turned on my heel and sprinted through the rumors and terrible shouts until I reached where I am now: the back stall of a bathroom, sitting on the filthy ground, alone. Just like Lindsay said would happen.

"Gabriella?"

Huh. That's Taylor's voice.

"Gabriella, I know you're in here," Taylor continued. "Listen, I know you wouldn't do something like that to Troy, especially because you like him."

At least one person believes I didn't make the website. It still doesn't help with a one to seven hundred ratio of students.

"Gabriella, you just have to talk to him! He'll believe you . . . He likes you."

Sure. As a friend. I stood up and unlocked the stall door to see Taylor leaning against the sinks. She smiled at me sympathetically and walked over to give me a hug. "Thanks, Tay," I said softly.

"Ignore the school, Gabi. They're idiots . . . Chad, Sharpay, Zeke . . . We all know you wouldn't make that website." She pulled away from me and gestured to the door. "The bell rang two minutes ago. Find Troy."

"I don't know, Taylor," I said dejectedly. "Did you see the way he looked at me?"

Taylor shook her head. "Gabs, he doesn't know what to believe. Chad had just brought up the website, and then you walked in. It was all bad timing. He was in shock. If you don't talk to him who else is he going to think did it?"

Why is Taylor always so rational? Even in the worst situations she stays calm and collected. I hope I can be the same way when I find Troy.

October 2, 2007. Troy's Bedroom, 9:54 PM.

When I look back on today, I would say it was pretty bad. Okay, so it was terrible! But at least everything worked out okay. I even think that today was both the worst day of my life along with the most _embarrassing _day of my life.

I didn't find Troy because by the time I stepped out of the bathroom, fifth period had already started. So I had to go through both my physics and PE class before I got the chance to speak to him. Not to mention the taunts and glares seemed to worsen throughout the day as more people got word of the website. Finally, after sixth period had ended, I spotted Troy walking with his head down, holding his sport bag and heading for the boy's locker room to change for basketball practice. I didn't waste another minute of time.

"Troy!" I shouted, scrambling after him as he dodged random people in the hallway. He turned around, hearing my voice, and stopped his long stride. "You have to believe me!"

Troy swallowed, staring down at me. He had a glint in his eye that I hadn't seen for a long time; probably when we weren't exactly friends. I just hoped we could remain friends after what had happened. "What, Gabriella?" he asked blatantly.

His use of my full name stung. I bit my lip, shaking slightly. "I would _never_ make something like that! I don't even know how to restart my computer, let alone make a website!"

Troy glanced around at the students who were staring at him, then he lowered his voice and said, "Prove to me you didn't do it."

Prove to him? Ahaha, did I ever prove it to him. And my 'proof' happened to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. Actually, considering Troy was there too, he might be just as mentally scarred as I am.

"Anything," I said, sighing softly. "I'll do anything, because I _didn't do it_."

"Okay," was all Troy said. Then he smirked, causing a bad feeling to bubble in my stomach. "You have to go to _Rite Aide_ and buy . . ." he paused as if trying to think of something absolutely dreadful that could be bought at the local drug store. "Condoms."

"_What?!_"

Haven't even held hands with a boy and yet I was buying a pack of condoms. _Condoms_. Great, right? Just GREAT.

"After my practice, I drive you to _Rite Aide_ and you buy a box," Troy said, readjusting the shoulder strap of his bag. "You do that and I'll believe you."

"But why condoms?" I stuttered slightly.

Troy half smiled, half smirked. "Because I know how embarrassed and innocent you are about these things."

How true. But I also got the feeling that he wasn't exactly mad at me anymore. Taylor was right - what was Troy supposed to think? He was basically humiliated and he could only point to the most obvious person available.

I met Troy around 4:15 by his car and we both drove to _Rite Aide_. He seemed in a slightly better mood as he informed me that he would be getting a great use out of his camera phone once we got there. And as we walked past the isle of tampons and sanitary napkins, we both stood in front of the shelf of condoms.

"I had no idea there are so many different kinds," I stated, staring at box upon box of the contraceptive.

Troy laughed, and clicked his camera at me. "And there's the one of your face . . ." he said jokingly. "Come, on, Montez. You have to buy a box."

"But I don't know which one!" I said, exasperated. "What's the least embarrassing? Colored . . . Glow in the dark . . . Spermicidal . . . FLAVORED?!"

I thought my face couldn't get redder, but the fun was just beginning at that point because Troy went on to say, "Yeah, those glow in the dark ones are a little distracting. Would never do those again."

I choked, staring at him open-mouthed. "I did NOT want to hear that," I said disgustedly. "And I guess I'm not getting that kind for the better of not picturing that image again. . ."

Troy shrugged, grinning like an idiot and impossibly unembarrassed at standing in a populated convenience store, starring at a towering wall of condoms. It was painfully obvious he had been in my position MULTIPLE times. Buying the condoms, I mean. Not the part about blushing uncontrollably.

"Hey, haven't tried these before," Troy said, reaching out and grasping one of the boxes. He turned to me, smiling like he knew something I didn't. "These are the ones you have to buy."

Then he tossed me the box, and while he laughed I read: Ribbed for her pleasure.

"NO WAY, TROY BOLTON!" I nearly shouted, tossing the box to the floor like it was going to bite my hand off. "I refuse to buy those!"

Troy shook his head, still laughing hysterically. "But, Elle. You have to or you're backing out on our deal."

"But you never said which _kind _I had to buy, you-"

I stopped speaking and stared, eyes wide at a person who was making their way down the same isle Troy and I were standing in. I whacked Troy's arm and he, too, turned only to have his jaw drop.

A medium sized blonde woman wearing a brightly colored shirt and loose, black pants was heading toward us. Her head was bent over reading something, so she hadn't seen Troy and I yet, and her chunky jewelry fell into her shopping cart.

Troy and I turned to look at each other at the exact same time with identical expressions of shock. "_Ms. Darbus?!" _Troy mouthed at me, horrified.

A silent argument followed as Troy tried to get me to grab a box of condoms from the shelf so we could flee the scene. Our hands were flailing wildly as we mouthed at each other, eyeing our teacher who was coming closer and closer. I took a step back as Troy attempted to shove a box of condoms into my arms, but ended up stepping on the box that I had thrown to the ground a few minutes prior. I gasped, falling forward into Troy who's hand, in an attempt to steady the both of us, plunged into the shelf, sending a wave of condom boxes upon us as we crashed to the ground in a heap.

"Miss Montez? Mr. Bolton?" Ms. Darbus had looked up from her shopping list and was looking at us with an expression I have never seen on her face before. Her eyes gazed upon Troy and I who were under a mountain of contraceptives in a variety of different colored boxes.

"Uh," Troy started, unable to say anything.

"We were just, um, getting some information for a health class project," I said quickly, picking up a box that sat on my knee. "Spermicidal lubricant adds to protection," I read from the back.

"Yeah," Troy said, coughing.

Time stood as Troy and I stared at our teacher blankly, blushes creeping up our cheeks. But suddenly, within a flash Ms. Darbus had lent forward, grabbed a box of condoms, thrown it into her cart, and darted out of sight. Troy and I turned to look at each other once again, mouths open with horrified looks on our faces.

"Did she just . . ." I began, trailing off as I fought the urge to laugh.

Troy bit his lip, nodding. "Yup, flavored, too."

We both couldn't take it anymore, but burst out laughing uncontrollably. The image of Ms. Darbus being with someone with her newly purchased item was enough to make me want to throw up, even if I hadn't eaten any lunch.

"I thought she had a family emergency," I sputtered, hand over my mouth as I giggled.

"Yeah," Troy said. "Her emergency was that she ran out of condoms."

I groaned in disgust, hitting Troy across the arm. "That was _the_ most _embarrassing _moment of my entire life!"

"I know," Troy said, finally standing up and causing the condom boxes to tumble off him. "And I thought when my mom said I was conceived on Valentine's Day was bad."

"Yeah, that one's up there in my mental list," I replied, still giggling.

"So," Troy said once we both were able to contain ourselves. "Now its your turn."

"What?" I replied, shocked that he still wanted me to go through with our deal.

"Come on, Elle," Troy said, grinning. "If Darbus can do it, you can."

Maybe it was the fact that he called me 'Elle' again. But for whatever reason I found myself five minutes later in the checkout line, buying a box of _Latex_ condoms. Troy had, of course, had to push me into the line and when I saw the guy behind the counter was around my age, I almost fainted in humiliation.

The checkout guy, Leroy as his nametag said, kind of smirked at me in a suggestive way that made me glance back at Troy, repulsed. "So," Leroy said as he marked the condoms up. "That'll be 5.99." Then he winked flirtatiously at me.

I was about to say something to the pig, but suddenly Troy had come up from behind me, put an arm around my waist, and kissed my cheek. "Almost done here, Hon?" he asked, his eyes telling me to follow along.

I've got to say, that was the closest I've ever been with any guy. The sad part is that it was just acting, but when Troy kissed me cheek, it tingled pleasantly.

"Yes, Troysie," I replied lovingly, setting down a five and a few ones for tax.

Troy turned to Leroy who was looking at Troy jealously. "We are going to have so much fun tonight, if you know what I mean," Troy said, grinning crookedly. "Thanks a million, man."

Then he grabbed the package of condoms and steered me out of the _Rite Aide_, hand remaining on my waist. I was disappointed when he dropped his hand when we reached his car, and my cheek was still tingling.

"That was some quick thinking, Troysie," I said as we climbed into Troy's BMW.

Troy started the car, chuckling. "Yeah, well, that dumb ass wasn't taking a hint."

I was silent for a second before saying, "Troy? Thanks."

He turned to look at me momentarily, his eyes bluer than ever. "Anytime."

So now I'm sitting here in Troy's room, watching him take more notes for History. Although today has been a long, horrible, embarrassing, and stressful day, it has also been kind of scary because right now, I don't know what I feel for Troy. And I'm afraid that whatever it was that I felt for him before, has just gotten stronger.

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A/N: Once again, sorry for the wait. I hope this chapter has made up for it, though. I've had the whole 'Ms. Darbus' thing planned since day one, so it was awesome being able to finally write it. Thanks for reading, and remember that every reviewer gets a preview for the next chapter! And believe me, you want that preview . . . Here's a hint: It's Saturday. And there's a party. Cheers! 

Crystalbluu


	10. Author's note

A/N: Hey, guys. Don't worry, my update is still this Saturday, lol. This is just a few comments. First, I deleted my first 2 authors notes that took up two chapters, so don't worry that the story is now only nine chapters. Second, my computer reset and I lost some of chapter 10 and I am in need of the preview that I sent to you guys. I actually PM'd quite a few people, but have gotten no response or they deleted the email. Any chance some of you might have it? If you do, please PM me. Thanks

UPDATE: I now have the preview. Thanks to all that sent it to me and a special thanks to _HPincognito247_ for sending it first! See you Saturday!


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews I recieved for the last chapter! You guys are ****amazing****. Enjoy the chapter!**

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October 2, 2007. Troy's Bedroom, 10:39 PM.

There are a few questions going through my mind as I sit here, watching Troy fooling around with his _Facebook_ account. It has only been an hour or so since my last entry, and the only new addition to my looooooong day is that my mom called saying she would be home around five tomorrow morning. So with that, here are the top five questions that are causing my head to throb.

1. What the heck am I supposed to do with the box of condoms that is now sitting inside my backpack?

2. Was Troy jealous when Leroy was 'flirting' with me at _Rite Aide_?

3. What am I to do about the whole website thing?

4. Should I tell Troy who the real culprit was, or should I leave the situation as it is?

5. Where on earth is my bra? I mean, seriously. It has gone into a third dimension, or something.

I think the most important question is the latter. How could I rest knowing that my bra could possibly be anywhere in Troy's house? What if a maid thought it was Troy's mom's bra? That would SUCK.

Troy just asked me if I have a _Facebook _account. As if. That sort of thing is for the popular crowd at East High. I would probably only have three or four friends, anyway. What's the point of having a _Facebook_ if I could just instant message my four friends? Wow. That sounded bad . . . I mean, I don't only have four friends. There's Taylor and Kelsi. And now I'm friends with Sharpay and Ryan Evans . . . And sometimes I talk to Martha Cox. So that's five! FIVE friends . . . Oh, and I also have Troy. I mean, I don't _have him_ have him, he's my friend.

Troy's cell phone is ringing. Surprisingly his ringer is _Hey there, Delilah_ by the Plain White T's. _Hey there, Delilah, what's it like in New York City. You're 1000 miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty, yes you do . . . _Wait. Troy just gave me his cell phone with a weird look on his face. I wonder who it is.

" _**. . . I don't know what to do, Man! It was the fucking, stupidest fight ever! I don't know what happened, it was like I wasn't thinking! What am I supposed to do? Shit, what if she won't talk to me anymore? How am I supposed to apologize if she won't talk to me? Fuck, I screwed this up. I screwed up, I screwed up, I screwed up . . ."**_

. . . Uuuuuum. I set the phone on Troy's bed where it hummed slightly as Chad's voice vibrated from it's speaker.

"He's been rambling like that for the last few minutes while you hummed my ring tone," Troy clarified, an amused expression on his face.

Okay, note to self: Never hum.

"You have a nice voice, you know," Troy continued. "Ever sing?"

Not even in the shower. I have this weird neighbor who's window is right next to our bathroom window. I always refrain from singing because I feel like he'd be listening, or something. Not to mention I looked up the whole 'how many sexual predators live in your neighborhood'. I'm almost positive he's on the list. If only I knew his name . . .

"Uh, Troy?" I asked, ignoring his question. "What is Chad talking about?"

Troy glanced over at his cell phone, shrugging. "I dunno. I think he and Taylor got into a fight."

I had gathered that much, but hearing it from someone else's mouth made it feel more real. Taylor and Chad fighting? I know they used to fight all the time before they got together, but now they're like the gross, mushy couple who stare moon-eyed at each other.

"Really?" I asked, frowning slightly. "Do you know what it was about?"

Troy opened his mouth as if to say something, but soon closed it. Instead, he picked his cell phone and pressed the _speaker_ button.

" _**. . . What do I do? I don't know what to do! I'm so stupid, Captain! Ugh, she won't talk to me anymore. What am I supposed to say when she does start talking? Stupid, fucking stupid . . ."**_

"It is _hard_ to say," Troy replied to me, frowning at the cell phone in his hand.

" _**. . . It IS hard to say!"**_

I looked at Troy, trying my hardest not to laugh in such a serious situation. "Um, Chad? What exactly did you and Taylor fight about?"

Chad didn't even seem to notice that it wasn't Troy's voice talking to him. He just went on to say, **"**_**What was the fight about? What was it ABOUT? It was about . . . About . . . Shit, I don't even remember anymore!"**_

Trust Chad and Taylor to have a fight and then get so mad at each other that they forget what they were fighting about in the first place. Wait. Taylor! I have to call Taylor!

"Um, Troy?" I asked. "I'm going to go call Taylor, so . . ."

"_**Taylor? Oh, why Taylor! WHY?!"**_

Troy lunged for my arm, nearly knocking me off my feet. Then, in a rushed whisper, he said, "Don't leave me here alone with Miss Drama Queen!"

"_**My life is over. OVER!"**_

"I'll leave you to it, Oprah," I replied, snatching my arm away from Troy and closing the door in his face.

I had no idea that boys can be such babies. I mean, really! And they make fun of _us _for shoving ice-cream into our faces when they break up with us. Whatever. I'm going to call Taylor and get a girl's point of view. I'm positive it's going to be FAR more informative than Chad's.

M: me

T: Taylor

T: (sobbing so hard I can barely hear her) H-h-h-hello?

M: Taylor?

T: O-oh, my g-gosh, G-gabi!

M: I heard about your fight with Chad . . . But you need to calm down, okay? Everything's going to be fine.

T: T-that's not why I'm c-crying!

M: (confused as ever) Wait, what?

T: I w-was so mad a-at him at f-first that I s-sent him this h-horrible email!

And I thought Taylor was smart. But wait, it just keeps getting better and better! Taylor wouldn't calm down until I had promised her that I would somehow get the email deleted. I know, right? I'm such an idiot! But she was sobbing into my ear, and I thought, I don't know, that maybe it wouldn't be too hard. That was, of course, before I remembered that the email was in CHAD'S computer, and to delete it I would have to sneak into CHAD'S room.

So know I'm sitting in the hallway outside of Troy's bedroom door, staring at my crappy cell phone. I know I'm going to need Troy's help with this one. He and Chad have been best friends for as long as I can remember. He knows Chad the best and will want to help him with his relationship with Taylor.

October 2, 2007. 11:23 PM, My Bedroom.

When I wrote before that Troy wanted to help his best friend, I had no idea that guy on guy advice was so unbelievably _terrible. _Seriously, you'd think that the most popular guy in East High would know how to give good advice! Well, actually . . . I guess because Troy is the most popular, his advice isn't exactly shocking.

A party. He advised Chad to throw a party to get his mind off the fight. A_ party_. As if that's going to do anything. All that is going to happen is a bunch of East High students getting drunk, grinding on each other while they 'dance', and Chad's house will become a trashed house of sex. Great idea, Troy. PERFECT.

And I let him know what I thought of his 'ingenious' plan.

"Troy? What were you thinking? Now Chad's probably going to go off and-and . . ."

"He's not going to screw some random girl, Elle," Troy said, trying to reassure me.

"Formal, sophomore year," I replied, crossing my arms defiantly. "He had just quarreled with Tiffany Sanders and an hour later he had apparently hooked up with Katherine Gere."

Troy shrugged, looking away from me. "You don't have to believe rumors, they're never true. You should know that after today."

I raised an eyebrow. His excuse was not flying. "So you're saying it was a rumor?"

"It wasn't Katherine, it was Lara Yaven," Troy mumbled. "But, still. Taylor is going to be there."

"Yeah," I said, sitting dejectedly on Troy's bed. "Along with half East High's slut population."

"Oh, come on," Troy said. "If he really loves Taylor, things will work out okay."

I bit my lip and looked up at him, swallowing. "She sent Chad a hate email after they fought and wants us to delete it."

Troy nodded slightly and slid to sit on the floor, leaning against his wall. "So _this_ is what true love is like."

In the real world, anyway. There's no ponies or mutant animals that talk or fairy godmothers. You don't marry a person an hour after meeting them. Instead people share unrequited feelings, cheat on one another, and sent hate mail. Jeeze, the real world is _awesome._ NOT.

October 3, 2007. 6:12 AM, My Bedroom.

Well, my mom is home again. It felt good to just sit down and have a conversation that didn't revolve around high school drama. She actually said she had something to tell me, but then the phone rang and she never got around to saying it. Whatever. It's probably just that she'll have to leave again on Wednesday.

I told her about the party tonight and she said I could invite some friends over if we wanted to get ready. I'm not really one to do that sort of thing, but when Taylor called me saying she needed my help, I couldn't just say, "Um, I hate parties. I won't help you look fantastic so Chad will want to make up and/or make-out."

So now she and Sharpay are coming over around four o'clock so we can 'prepare' for Chad's bacchanal. I don't even understand why they're coming so early. The party doesn't even start until, like, eight. But apparently choosing which outfit you want to later drunkenly throw up on, is the most important thing in the world. To Sharpay, anyway. Oh, hang on. My cell phone is ringing.

Speak of the devil. It's Sharpay. What the heck is she screeching about? Okay, something about her dog, Boi . . . And Ryan's moisturizer? Um . . . Okay, definitely something to do with her stilettos. Oh, no way. She wants to go shopping. Boi had an 'accident' all over Sharpay's new shoes.

Ha! She was all, "I'll pick you up at ten, Gabriella!" Then she hung up. I think the only thing I did was greet her. For the most part, Sharpay did all the talking. So I guess I'm stuck shopping. I need to become more assertive because right now I seem to be doing a lot of favors for people. Namely sneaking into Chad's room and hacking into his computer.

October 3, 2007. The Millionth Store at Albuquerque Mall, 2:39 PM.

There is a reason I despise shopping. For one, I don't exactly have the most money, so it's not like I can buy many things. Secondly, I just don't care what people think. So what if that color brings out my eyes? I don't care if the V-neck makes me look for curvy. So when Sharpay showed up at my house clad with a bright pink convertible and a distressed Taylor in the backseat, I knew I was in for a rough day.

Luckily I haven't really had to do anything. Sharpay and Taylor have been running through every freaking store in the mall while I sit with the overly happy ladies who say, "Can I help you, Miss?" in annoyingly polite voices. Sharpay has already picked out a nice outfit for herself. It's a pink mini-dress with matching shoes and a funky beaded necklace. She is currently working on Taylor who right now is trying on some yellow baby-doll shirt.

Apparently Taylor is now in the mindset that she has to look amazing for Chad to take her back. That way, if Troy and I don't delete the email on time, she still has a chance with him. Whatever. I've seen the way Chad looks at Taylor. He's practically head over heels in love with her and would take her back if he had to crawl through a room of Ms. Darbuses. Not to mention Troy is keeping Chad away from his computer by practicing basketball at the park. So I think the situation is pretty much under control right now.

Uh oh. Sharpay is looking at me weirdly. This cannot be good . . .

October 3, 2007. Sharpay's Convertible, 8:12 PM.

I wouldn't let Sharpay buy me any new clothes. I've been down that road once before and I already know that's not what I want to do to myself. Still, Sharpay and Taylor talked me into letting them straighten my hair.

"Gabriella," Sharpay had said as she dragged me into my desk chair. We had just returned from our shopping trip. Or rather, their shopping trip. "You wouldn't try on any of the outfits Taylor and I picked out for you. This is a _party_. You're supposed to dress up a little."

"Well," I started, knowing they'd eventually drag me down. "I guess it's oka--"

And then Taylor had practically strapped me into my chair, pulled out Sharpay's flat iron, and began working my curly mass of hair. It took them like, an hour to straighten half of my hair and it hurt! I probably yelped every five seconds, but I must admit that it actually kind of looks nice now that its finally finished . . . But that's all I'm going to let them do to me! I'm still not going to wear any make-up or new clothes. It's only a party, not a freaking ball.

However, the way Taylor and Sharpay look you'd think their lives depended on how good they dress for this party. We're on our way right now, arriving 'fashionably' late. In other words everyone will be completely wasted by the time we get there. This is why I don't like going to popular jock parties. People just drink and make-out, two things I have never done before. So why would I go somewhere where all I'd be able to do is be the geek eating all the chips? Taylor used to be the same way, but then she started dating Chad. She hasn't changed drastically, but as of right now she would rival Sharpay in the way she's dressed . . . Oh, god. We're here.

Holey . . . The outside of his house is pretty much trashed. There's toilet paper hanging in his trees and empty beer bottles are littering the grass. Lovely. Where on earth are Chad's parents?

"Gabi, I'm going to go find Zeke, okay?"

Sharpay just left. We're parked behind a bunch of cars in front of the house and pretty much every car contains a couple doing unmentionable actions.

"Are you going to be okay, Taylor?" I asked. She looks like she's going to rip apart her purse, she's clutching it so tightly.

"Um," Taylor started. "I guess so . . . And you're going to delete the email?"

Darn. I had forgotten all about that . . .

"I'm going to delete the email," I replied reassuringly, even though part of me wanted to add 'if he hasn't read it yet'.

Taylor nodded, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm going to find Chad, then." She stepped out of the car and was just closing the door when she looked up at me. "Are you coming in?"

"Not just yet," I said, still perturbed by the destruction that lay all around me. "I'll be in a little while."

And now I'm alone. This is great. I wish I never promised Taylor I'd delete the email and I could just climb over the seat, start the car, and drive myself home to eat a pint of ice-cream. To bad I don't have my license yet. Darn, I really need to find the time to stop studying and just go down and get it . . . I mean, I'm already sixteen. I should be driving by now.

Ugh, this is stupid. I need to think of a game plan.

Plan Of Action

1. Find way inside Chad's house without seeing more of someone than I would want to through a car window.

2. Avoid drunk partiers and dodge sexually active couples

3. Locate Troy. I can't navigate Chad's house without his help.

4. Sneak into Chad's bedroom and hack into his computer

5. Delete Taylor's email.

6. Leave swiftly and repeat step two until I am able to leave.

Okay, this sounds like a nice, organized, perfected plan. I'm good to go . . . I think.

October 3, 2007. Chad's Bedroom?????????

If I had known what would happened to me when I went into that party, I would have chosen forgiving Lindsay over entering Chad's house. I was successfully able to get inside, but as soon as I opened the door my ears were killed with a surge of music and my nose fell off because of the putrid smell of alcohol. The house was dimly lit, and every square foot held teenagers drinking, dancing, or making out. It was horrible, and I immediately had to fight the urge to turn around and run straight out the door. I would have, too, had Sharpay not chosen the moment to saunter over and grab my arm roughly.

"Gabriellaaaaaaaa," she giggled, nearly tripping when she released my arm. Beer from the red cup she was holding sloshed onto the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. "You're here!"

And she was already drunk. I didn't know how long I had sat in her car, but it was obviously enough time for Sharpay to become completely wasted. "Erm, yeah," I replied uneasily.

"Zeke! ZEKIE," she shouted suddenly, swaying on her feet until Zeke Baylor appeared at her side, also totally smashed. "Look, Gabi's here!"

Zeke paused, focusing his eyes on me. "I don't see her," he laughed, drinking deeply from his own plastic cup.

Sharpay giggled loudly, slapping Zeke on the shoulder and causing him to drop his beer. "That's because weee straightened her haaaair," she screeched.

"Zeke," I said, ignoring Sharpay's behavior. "Do you know where Troy is?"

"Troooy? Nope, I haven't seeen him since he wennt outside." He grabbed Sharpay and laughed, "C'mon, Shar. I needa' nother beer."

I sighed heavily and started to make my way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding being doused in peoples' beer. I thought I saw Taylor and Chad disappearing behind a door, but then I noticed the girl was wearing a different outfit. I finally reached the sliding door that led to Chad's backyard, but I was halted when a couple crashed against the glass, deeply absorbed in each other.

"Um, excuse me!" I yelled over the music, firmly trying to pry the door open.

The couple didn't budge, but I was able to slide the door wide enough so I could squeeze through. Chad's backyard wasn't much better than inside. If anything, it was darker and there were people kissing and such in his pool. The worst part is that I had barely taken three steps when a rowdy group of jocks carrying a keg of beer knocked me off my feet and straight into a couple that making out. Luckily I didn't know the two people that I had rudely broken apart, but I _did_ know the person who had accidentally pushed me.

"Shit, I'm sorry about tha-- Elle?"

Of course, right? Troy gave me a hand up and dragged me away from the glaring couple before they pushed me into Chad's pool. We stopped in an area with a few lounge chairs and a heating lamp that allowed me to see him. Troy was wearing dress jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. I couldn't help but notice the smell of alcohol mixed in with his cologne.

"Are you okay?" he asked loudly, and I was glad he at least wasn't slurring like Zeke and Sharpay were.

"I'm fine," I shouted. "We have to delete the email."

"What?" Troy asked, bending down so he could hear me better. "I can't hear you over the music!"

"We have to delete the email!" I screamed, barely able to hear my own words over the blasting music.

Troy continued to frown at me blankly before grabbing my hand and saying, "Fuck this."

I would have enjoyed the fact that we were holding hands had it not been for the yanking and twisting of Troy's route around the maniacal teenagers. Troy is a good few inches taller than I am, so for every stride he took, I took three. We dodged the partiers all the way up a flight of steps and into a closet. My ears were ringing, but the music was not nearly as loud as it was downstairs.

"Okay, now that my ear drums aren't exploding," Troy said, flipping on the light. "What were you saying?"

"Has Chad been on his computer today?" I asked finally. "Because we really need to delete Taylor's email."

"No, I was able to keep him from checking his email practically the entire day," Troy replied, leaning against the shelf of towels behind us. "I think he and Taylor have pretty much made up now, too."

"Really?" I asked. "Good, because Taylor was really annoying me. She made me go shopping with her and Sharpay to pick out the perfect outfit."

Troy sniggered, but paused, eyeing me slightly. "Did you pick out the perfect outfit?"

"No, I had to dodge her and hide in the food court," I said, smiling at the memory. "Why?"

Troy swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know, it's just," he paused, clearing his throat. "You look nice tonight."

I know, right? Troy Bolton complimented me. ME! Gabriella Anne Montez! But before I could say anything, someone had opened the closet door. Troy and I looked up to see a random couple kissing and making their was into the closet without noticing us. We both edged around the engrossed couple and, trying not to laugh, escaped out of the closet just as the door closed behind us.

"This is why I don't like parties," I said, smiling slightly. "Probably eighty percent of all teenaged mothers get pregnant at parties like this one."

"Oh, come on, Elle," Troy said. "Not all teenagers are irresponsible. You yourself have a perfectly good package of condoms."

I hit him on the shoulder, and then he led me down the hall to where Chad's room was. It, like Troy's room, was a pigsty, only Chad's was ten times worse. I quickly jumped over a pile of dirty clothes and sat in the desk chair only to jump up in shock. There was a half-eaten sandwich beneath me, and I pushed it to the floor, disgusted.

"Okay," I muttered, moving the mouse around on the mouse-pad. "Lets find that email."

Troy stood behind me, looking over my shoulder as we waited for Chad's computer to boot up. Maybe it was the fact we were both staring at the screen, but for whatever reason he suddenly said, "You know, I never really apologized to you for yesterday."

"Forget it, Troy. Lindsay wanted to make it seem like it was my fault," I blurted out without thinking.

Troy blanched and nearly shouted, "What?!"

Oops. Ah, well. I probably would have told him at some point who made the website. He has a right to know . . .

"Lindsay made that piece of crap? That bitch!" he exclaimed, gripping the desk chair tightly. "I never would have thought . . ."

I turned around, sighing. "Troy, seriously. Forget about it. This is what she wanted: to gain your attention," I stated. "You have to pretend you never saw the website and that it never affected you."

Troy appeared uncertain, but finally his face relaxed. "Damn," he muttered. "I had no idea how obsessed she was with me."

"Troy, I hate to tell you this, but the entire school is obsessed with you," I replied. "I mean, there's this stall in the girl's bathroom that's practically a shrine to your existence."

"You're fucking serious?" Troy asked, clearly shocked. "I mean, I know there's plenty of girls out there that would . . . But . . . A shrine?"

"Calm yourself, Troy," I said, turning back to the computer that was now at Chad's home screen. "Okay, so do you know what his email is?"

Troy frowned, trying to remember. I think it's not even going to say anything about Chad's email address. I am left completely and utterly speechless.

I typed in the email address and than hovered the mouse over the password box. I knew Troy and I were thinking the exact same thing: what would Chad Danforth use for his account password?

"Uh," I muttered, trying to think. "Want to try 'Taylor', or something?"

Troy shrugged, so I wordlessly typed in my best friend's name only to have it be rejected. "Darn, it could be anything. Knowing Chad it's probably 'sandwhich', or another random word."

I think Troy and I took turns typing in various words for the next fifteen to twenty minutes. We were both becoming very frustrated, and at one point Troy mentioned just throwing the computer out the window. Finally, Troy typed in 'basketball' as a joke and it was accepted.

"Shit, I was only joking," Troy laughed. "Why didn't we think of putting that earlier?"

"I don't know," I said, annoyed. "Lets just delete the stupid email and get out of here."

I clicked _inbox_, and there it was, shinning bright blue and unopened from Taylor McKessie.

"You know," I started. "I never even stopped to wonder what exactly Taylor said that was so bad in this email. Do you think it would betray her privacy if we just . . ."

"Hell, no."

Troy reached over my shoulder and clicked the email, and we both read:

_My Dearest Chad,_

_Fuck you._

_Love, Taylor._

"That's it?" Troy asked, astounded. "That's the terrible email that we just _had_ to delete?"

I myself was surprised at the stupidness of Taylor's line-long email, but I deleted it before saying, "I could write better hate letters with my eyes closed. Sure, it would be illegible and gibberish, but it would be far more menacing."

Troy shook his head, probably not knowing whether to laugh or curse at the fact we had spent half an hour trying to hack into Chad's account to delete the stupid email. "Let's just go back downstairs."

I was standing up from the desk chair when the sounds of feet stumbling down the hall echoed in my ears. A second later and the footsteps were just outside Chad's door. Troy and I looked at each other frantically, and looked around the room quickly for a legitimate hiding space.

I must admit Troy's idea of climbing out of Chad's bedroom window was a good one, even a great one. It would have worked, too, had the window not been jammed with some unidentifiable substance. So we did the only thing we could do: Roll into the hell under Chad's bed.

"Okay," I breathed, listening to the doorknob being turned and wishing I could see the door from under Chad's bed. "It could just be his mom coming in to clean . . ."

The door burst open, and the sounds that came in would have been enough to understand what was happening. The bra that landed right by Troy's face only made things more obvious.

Troy gave a curt nod, and as the bedsprings above us creaked, he whispered, "Or not."

I was too horrified to speak, so instead I ripped a page out of this diary and wrote, _Where are Chad's parent's when stuff like this is happening?_

Troy wrote back, _They're on a business trip._

We had no idea what to do as we both lay under Chad's bed with the old, rotting food and dirty socks. Luckily the people above us only seemed to be doing some heavy kissing, but they didn't seem like they were going to stop any time soon either.

Troy and I somehow got into a silent agreement of not speaking, so here I am now, writing in this diary as Troy lies on his stomach folding the piece of paper we wrote on into a fortune teller. Every now and then the bed springs squeak, but we've been under here for about twenty minutes and are quite used to it. Wait, Troy passed me the now unfolded piece of paper.

_I found a pack of cards. Wanna play Go Fish?_

He wants to play Go Fish while we are stuck under an unknown making out couple. And only Chad would have a pack of cards under his bed. Whatever, it's not like there's anything better to do under here.

Huh, I have three eights. Sweet.

_You beat me at Go Fish four times in a row. How is that humanely possible? Is there some sort of connection between basketball and Go Fish? _

**Yes, we basketball players all have a connection with lame card games. It's an art.**

_Shut up! Gosh, how long are we going to be stuck under here?_

**Dunno. Kissing can last all night, and that's not saying they move on to other activities.**

_WHAT? I'd kill myself if they started having sex._

**I know, now every time I screw someone I'm going to look under the bed and make sure no one's there first.**

_The girl you're with would think you're crazy._

**Sure, but in ten minutes or so she'd think I was amazingly sexy.**

_You're such an arrogant person._

**Aw, shit. They moved to right above my head. Move over, they're like, moaning and crap.**

_No! Stay on your side . . . Stop kicking me!_

**Actually, that moan sounds kind of familiar.**

_You don't think it's Taylor and Chad, do you?_

**No. Wouldn't it be weird if it were Ms. Darbus?**

_EW!_

**Hahahah, now you have a bad image in your head.**

_I've had bad images in my head ever since you mentioned having sex with a girl._

**Which girl?**

_Ugh, forget it._

**You know, that means you technically pictured me naked.**

_What? Where does that logic come from?_

**Well, Elle. When a guy and a girl have sex they have to take their clothes off. I'd say that would count as being naked.**

_But I didn't picture you naked. _

**You just said you had a bad image of me screwing a girl. **

_You had a blanket covering you. _

**I never cover myself with a blanket when I have sex. It gets too hot.**

_Where in what I wrote did you get that I wanted to know what you do when you have sex?_

**You had the wrong image. I was correcting it for you.**

_I don't have any image! I wouldn't because its impossible for me to have that kind of erotic image in my mind._

**Anything is possible. **

_Not if you've never done anything before._

**Wait, never done ****anything****? You've never even, like, kissed someone before?**

_Sure, I've kissed someone before. _

**Besides your dad.**

**I can't believe you've never been kissed before.**

_Well you don't have to go reminding me about it. It's not like there's something I can do._

**Hell yes, there is. Just kiss someone!**

_No one would want to kiss me!_

I just looked up from my and Troy's notes. He's looking at me weirdly. And until now, I never realized how close we are to each other. His eyes are really blue . . .

**

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I made it extra long to make up for it. I now you're all going to hate me because of the cliffhanger, but it really was getting extremely long, lol. Hope you all had an excellent Valentine's Day! Rememer, review and I'll PM you the preview for the next chapter! Cheers!**

**Crystalbluu**


	12. Authors Note

Hey, everyone! Just wanted to let you know there's a trailer for this story in my profile. I'd put it right here, but fanfiction won't let me for some reason. Just look right underneath thr first paragragh and you'll see it. I made it myself because I was bored at a friend's house, so, yeah. If any of you want to make any more trailers or banners for this story, feel free to ask. See you Saturday with the new update! Cheers!

Love, Crystalbluu


	13. Chapter 11

October 3, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:18 PM.

Yes . . . I am out from under Chad's bed. And no . . . I am not exactly the happiest person right now. Far from it, in fact. Things have just been piling up from the beginning of this week, and right now I've reached my melting point.

I seriously, deeply thought what was about to happen, would happen. That I wasn't imagining Troy's eyes flickering to my lips or how I couldn't draw my own eyes away from his blue ones. And I thought I knew what I wanted . . . I've been crushing on Troy for a few days and spent pretty much all my time with him. I've even admitted to myself that I really, truly have feelings for him.

But a little, annoying voice popped into my head at the worst moment possible and refused to go away. I kept thinking, _Troy is so experienced in kissing girls, why would he want to kiss me? _and _He's partially drunk, you can smell the alcohol on his shirt. If he kisses you, it will only be because he's tipsy_. These inquiries ran across my mind as I stared at Troy's handsome features. I'm not sure if he could see the cogs in my brain spinning, or if he too suddenly realized what he was so close to doing. For whatever reason, Troy kind of frowned slightly, shook his head, and turned away, leaving me hanging.

The worst part is that I actually felt a sense of . . . Relief. Like, what if I had kissed him and I sucked? He'd realize I wasn't worth hanging out with, much less dating and he'd go back to Lindsay, or something. A part of me wants so badly to just jump out of my room, navigate where Troy is spending the night tonight, and just randomly kiss him. I guess the thing that is holding me back is the fact that Troy turned away, not me.

After the ordeal, things pretty much fell into place. Chad burst into the room with Taylor hanging off his arm and shouted, "Ugh, what the fuck! Get out of my room!" Apparently the guilty party on Chad's bed turned out to be a guy from the basketball team and a cheerleader. The girl shrieked, grabbed her bra and ran from the room, followed by an embarrassed teammate of Chad and Troy's. I'm just glad I won't have to look the couple in the eye . . . But, anyway. Chad booted the teenagers out of his room and said, "Ugh, now I'm going to have to throw out the mattress!"

"Chad," Taylor had giggled. "Just wash the sheets."

But Chad, in normal goofy fashion, proceeded to pretend to lift the mattress off his bed frame . . . Revealing Troy and I beneath it.

"What the fuck?" Chad exclaimed, watching with wide eyes as Troy and I _finally_ climbed out from under the bed. "What the hell were you guys doing under my bed while the horny couple was reproducing?"

"The were screwing?" Troy gaped, shuddering involuntarily.

"No," Taylor said, helping me up from the ground. "But they were close to it . . . What were you doing under there?"

Troy and I shared the first glance since our almost-kiss, awkwardly turning away right afterwards. "Um, playing Go-Fish," I muttered, willing Taylor with my eyes to change the subject.

Luckily, she caught on quickly and grabbed my arm. "C'mon, Gabs," she said, leading me out of Chad's room. They've got some sheet cleaning to do."

"Hey, wait," Chad burst out, following us out of his room. "I'm not touching that, my mom can do it later."

We all laughed for a bit until Chad led Taylor away saying something like, "Guest bedroom, attic."

Ew.

I turned to Troy who seemed to be avoiding my gaze. He was finding the buttons of his shirt very interesting and said, "Uh, I'm gonna go get something to drink."

I nodded as I watched him bound down the stairs into the endless partiers. I thought briefly about following him, but the fact that Troy had blatantly given me the cold shoulder held me back. I needed something to do, something that would clear my mind of everything that has been happening to me within this past week. My life has gone from boring to overly dramatic, and my emotions all bubbled up . . . Just like Chad's chemistry labs.

I stripped Chad's sheets, keeping myself from remembering what activities had taken place on them minutes beforehand. They were disposed into an empty laundry basket (for all of Chad's dirty clothing was littered on the floor) and I stretched across the blank mattress, simply pondering what I was supposed to do. I'm not sure how long I was lying there on Chad's bed; probably for an hour, or so. But I finally decided that I wanted to go home, cuddle in my bed, and maybe watch a movie with my Mom like I used to do before I met Troy.

I fully intended on just slipping out the front door without saying goodbye to anyone. I wasn't in the mood to have Sharpay saunter up to me and babble nonsense or for Taylor to squeal over Chad. But, no. Instead I got to walk down the stairs to see Troy freak dancing with some girl. But not just any girl. _Shannon_. Shannon, the girl he was out with the first night I tutored him. Shannon, the girl who wouldn't stop glaring at me while a was wearing Troy's jacket. And not only that, but Troy was enjoying it. They both were. _A lot._

Of course once I escaped outside it had to be pouring rain. I was glad for it, however, because it disguised my tears very well. How could he do that? How could Troy be so close to kissing me and then go off and grind into another girl? After all the flirting and teasing and time we've spent together . . . How could I have let myself think that I actually had a chance with becoming something other than friends?

He probably thinks I'm an idiot. He was never about to kiss me. _I _was about to kiss him . . . Troy and Shannon are probably laughing about it right now while I sit here, moping in my bed on a Saturday evening. I'm cold from the five-mile walk home, wet from the stupid rain, and extremely depressed. Today and yesterday have been the worst days of my entire life.

October 3, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:46 PM.

Just remembered I have that tedious project for homeroom due on Monday. Great. What am I supposed to write about? Obviously I can't write about Troy. I don't even know if he'll talk to me in class. I'm just going to have to BS the entire thing . . .

Gabriella Montez

Homeroom

10/05/07

Top 15 Things That Mean The Most To Me

1. My family: After my dad divorced my mom and left when I was eight, I've held my mother very close to my heart.

2. My friends: I need someone to make me laugh at life, right?

I think I'm very close to being done with the assignment, don't you think? Only . . . thirteen more to go. Ugh, this is ludicrous. I can't get Troy off my mind and I somehow have to face the school again tomorrow. I'm hoping they won't be as cruel to me as they were on Friday.

Hmmmmmm.

3. Strawberry Hi-Chews _and _Hershey's Kisses_: Who doesn't like candy and chocolate?_

Heck, yes! I'm really getting into a groove, now! All I have to do is think of twelve more that have absolutely nothing to do with Troy. Of course, that pretty much means I'm lying for my entire list. But Ms. Brown would never figure that out, so . . . Wait. What if Ms. Darbus is back tomorrow? Oh, my gosh!

She probably thinks Troy and I are a couple, or something. I mean, we _were_ looking at condoms . . . How am I supposed to speak to her at all? She'll look at my list and think, "Where are your condoms, I should think those mean a lot to you."

GAH! I need to talk to Troy. But I can't . . . It'll be awkward again and he'll probably still ignore me. Ugh, think positive, Gabriella. On Monday everything will be fine and Troy and I won't even mention whatever almost happened tonight.

4. My Computer: It has my life on it -- pictures, emails, assignments.

5. My cell phone: If I'm lost, hurt, or needing to talk to someone, it's always very handy.

This is hopeless.

Sunday, October 4, 2007. My Bedroom, 11:19 AM.

Can you believe that I just now woke up? I can't really remember when I fell asleep, but I must have gotten like, ten hours of sleep last night. I actually feel a little better despite my entire situation. And the fact that I still have to tutor Troy this afternoon.

Huh, instant message just buzzed on my computer.

Decathlongrrl: What happened last night? I came downstairs and you had disappeared.

Taylor is my best friend. But seriously, I hate the whole, "Tell your best friend everything" policy. It's annoying.

Chem-briella: I just got tired so I walked home.

Decathlongrrl: You walked? That's like five miles! Why didn't you just ask me for a ride? I would have made Chad take you home.

Chem-briella: I'm thinking you were a little preoccupied.

Decathlongrrl: I'm going to skim over that comment. What about Sharpay? She was the one who drove us to Chad's house.

Chem-briella: Even if she wasn't drop-dead drunk, she'd have been too busy flirting with Zeke Baylor.

Which reminds me, I have to talk with Sharpay. Are she and Zeke together, finally?

Decathlongrrl: Well, what about Troy? You two have been attached at the hip lately, he's been driving you everywhere. Why didn't you ask him?

Because he was grinding his pelvis into a sluty cheerleader. And we almost kissed and now he's ignoring me.

Chem-briella: Because I wanted to walk home, okay, Taylor? It's not really a big deal.

Decathlongrrl: Just as long as you're okay.

Chem-briella: I'm fine.

"Gabriella, honey?"

My mom is coming up the stairs to my room. Probably to tell me she's going on another business trip. I hate this week.

Chem-briella: Sorry, Tay, I g2g.

Decathlongrrl: Alright, call me if you want to talk. You don't really seem okay . . .

****

Chem-briella has signed off at 11:27.

"Hey, Mom," I said, turning in my deckchair as my mom walked into my bedroom and sat on my bed. "What is it?"

My mom for some reason looked rather uncomfortable as she gazed at me with tired eyes. She sighed, than tried to smile. "There's just something I have to tell you, Gabi. I've been trying to for a while now, but we always seem to be interrupted."

Okay, here it comes: "Gabi, I'm going on a year-long trip to Bermuda."

"Your dad called."

Sunday, October 4, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:04 PM.

I'm seriously trying not to freak out right now. Although, after what just happened, to say I haven't already gone ballistic is lying. But can you blame me? I can't believe this . . .

My dad called. My dad, the guy who I haven't seen nor talked to for almost half my life. The guy who I loved up until I was eight years old and he divorced my mom. The guy who left me and my mom to fend for ourselves.

So you can imagine how things went after my mom revealed her little pearl of wisdom. And, okay. I'll admit that I went a little overboard with the things that I said. It isn't my mom's fault that my long lost father randomly decided to call because he wants me to talk to me about something 'important'. But I didn't know how to react. I needed an outlet, and I guess my mom was just standing before me and I used her to vent ALL my feelings for the past few days. And now that its all out, I don't feel like being here right now, in this room. With pictures of my dad and I, the room which Troy snuck up to . . . I need to leave. Now.

But where am I supposed to go? I don't want to call my dad, obviously, and my mom is waiting downstairs for me to do so. I can't go to Taylor's house -- she's already suspicious about how I've been acting. I'm just going to go . . . Walk for a bit.

Sunday, October 4, 2007. Don't know where, 7:28 PM.

So 'for a bit' turned into a full blow sprint into an area of Albuquerque that I've never been in before. I literally have no idea where I am, don't even care, and my mom is probably hyperventilating as its been a good seven hours since I snuck out of my bedroom.

Although I should be feeling pretty freaked right now, strangely enough I feel . . . calm. Sitting here, in this random coffee shop with complete strangers, I feel relaxed knowing I have no one to impress or no one to break my heart. I can be a loner who sits in a corner table, sipping on a mocha latté, head inside a red diary. Gabriella Montez doesn't exist, Troy Bolton never came into her life, and a certain father can be ignored. My only problem is that I only have roughly sixty dollars and that my mom may become so worried that she'll call the police to report me missing. Ah, well. She can't legally do that for another seventeen hours. That still leaves me tonight to wander and tomorrow to catch my breath and reorganize my thoughts.

God, my cell phone won't stop vibrating. At first it was on loud, but people kept staring at me when it kept ringing and I continued to ignore the calls, so I set it to vibrate. I think now that I'm relaxed I can handle reading the messages . . . But just the texts, not the voicemails.

Gabi? Where are you? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the house? -Mom

Gabriella Anne Montez, it's been four hours. You better be dead somewhere missy, you're not picking up your phone AND I have no idea where you are. -Mom

Gabs? Where are you? Your Mom called my house like, six times. Are you okay? -Taylor

Figures she'd call Taylor. That's where I usually go when I have these little meltdowns. Not this time, though. This one was the worst one yet.

Gabi, darling? You're scaring me, please return my calls! -Mom.

Uh, Gabriella? Taylor's freaking out, can you at least text her back as a favor to me? -Chad

GABRIELLA! If you don't respond to me within the next hour, I WILL call the police! -Mom

I feel guilty now, of course. Like I said before, it's not my mom's fault my dad is such an . . . You get the point. But I just don't feel like talking to anyone, yet.

Gabi? Your Mom is really worried about you . . . So am I. I should have known something was wrong with you on AIM this morning. Chad's going to help me come look for you. Please call us, it's make things much easier. Everyone's really worried. -Taylor

I will not cry. My dad is not going to be the reason for my tears. He doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve to make me and my friend and family suffer.

Sunday, October 4, 2007. Don't know where, 7:51 PM.

I hate him.

Sunday, October 4, 2007. Don't know where, 8:13 PM.

Gabriella, it's dark outside. Everyone is literally freaking out. Please tell me where you are! - Taylor

Sweetie! Please, I love you. Come home or call me. -Mom

Gabs, it Sharpay. If you don't want to talk to your Mom or Taylor, at least let Ryan and I pick you up. Wherever you are right now, its dangerous to be out at night. -Sharpay

Sunday, October 4, 2007. Don't know where, 8:24 PM.

I hate my dad. I hate how I can't refrain from crying. I hate how one of his measly phone calls is affecting me this much.

Sunday, October 4, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:35 PM.

Chad found me. By that time I was sobbing into my arms and the owner of the coffee shop was saying, "Honey, its closing time. Are you going to be okay? Do you need to borrow a phone?"

Taylor ran in after him, and helped Chad gather me in his arms and bring me outside to his car. I'm too mentally exhausted to say much more. Maybe tomorrow I'll elaborate. Maybe._

* * *

_

A/N: I know it's shorter than usual, but there's a reaosn for why I had to cut it off here. Sorry for the long wait, too! I had a slight family emergency, but everything is fine now. Also, I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of depressing. But just think: now that Gabi's had her breakdown, she's going to want to do that much more with her life. Also, I know a lot of you really wanted that kiss. The truth is that they both aren't emotionally ready for it. In real life, when you realize you like your friend that way, you'd be kind of freaked out, right? See you soon! And remember, review and I'll send you a preview for the next chapter!

Crystalbluu


	14. Chapter 12

A/N: Hey, everyone! I'd like to ask you all a favor and that is to read the author's note at the end of this chapter --- I have to discuss some very important matters. Thank you, and enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Monday, October 5, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:35 PM. 

Okay. I'm feeling slightly better, now. It helps that I'm sucking on a king-sized Hershey bar, but there's another reason I'm more cheerful than earlier. Basically, Afro-boy and Taylor rushed into the coffee shop, drove me home where I was showered with worried kisses from my mom, and thrown upon my bed where Chad left Taylor and I to have a 'girl talk'. He said he didn't want to intrude, but I think the fact that my Mom's homemade brownies were steaming on the counter is the real reason. My mom bakes when she's worried, something I need to learn to do instead of drastic actions.

"Gabi, what happened?" Taylor had asked, pulling up a desk chair to the side of my bed.

I sighed, fidgeting with one of my bed pillows. You know that thing where you do something thinking it was smart at the time, but than later you look back and think, _Why the hell did I do that?_ The whole running away thing? Yeah. I'm an idiot.

"You're going to think it's really stupid and immature," I replied tiredly.

"Try me."

"My dad called."

There was a silence as Taylor stared at me, suddenly quite shocked. See, Taylor and I have been friends basically since second grade. She would come over to my house and my Dad would take us somewhere fun, like the bowling alley. She was also there when he turned into a jerk and ditched my Mom and I.

"Oh, Gabi," she muttered, putting a hand on my arm. "That's not stupid at all. You had the right to freak out a little." She smiled for a second, then said, "If I were you I probably would have done something worse like send Chad a hate email."

I chuckled briefly, liking how it felt to laugh after an entire evening of crying. "Thanks, Tay."

"Hey, it's not problem," she replied, biting her lip. "Just . . . Next time you want to get away, get away at my house with some ice-cream and the movie _Grease_."

"It's a deal," I replied, smiling in spite of myself.

And I intend to keep that deal, because soon I'm going to have to ask my mom why my dad even called in the first place. I'll surly need some sort of retreat by then. As for right now, though, I've spent all today catching up on homework in bed and watching movies with my mom. It was nice, really. She's away so much that we rarely get to sit down and converse with each other. And although I skipped yet another day of school, I feel refreshed and ready to face the high school hoards tomorrow. I think.

The good news is that I not only had a nice chat with Taylor and spent the day with my mom, but Troy stopped by a little while ago after his basketball practice ended. I know, right? I was totally shocked too. After Troy was giving me the cold shoulder I half expected him to ignore me for at least a few days. But there he was, shuffling almost nervously into my bedroom after I had called, "Come in!" when he knocked.

"Hi," he muttered, sitting on the edge of my bed. "I heard what happened."

I think every person at school has. The fact that I didn't go to school today probably worsened the rumors, too. I merely nodded, still watching as Troy fiddled with his jacket sleeves.

"You should have called me, or something. I would hav --"

"Troy," I interjected. "It's not a big deal, okay? I just had a breakdown . . . Besides, I don't even have your number."

It's true. Troy and I never exchanged cell phone numbers, and I never bothered to look in the student guide for it.

Troy shook his head, standing up and moving closer to the head of my bed. "Elle, that's not the point. I mean . . . We've grown pretty close these past few days, and while you were having your episode, I was oblivious and hanging around Shannon."

I made a mental note to question him about his newfound relationship with Shannon later.

"Give me your phone," he said suddenly, reaching for it anyway when he spotted it on my bedside table. "You, Gabriella Anne Montez, are now one of my top people."

Even though Troy and I established that we were close friends, I couldn't help but feel disappointed that he still remained dating Shannon. At least, according to what he said it appears he's hanging out with her.

"Right up there next to Shannon," I replied in what I hoped was a cheerful tone.

Troy grinned, shaking his head. "You'd like her, Elle. I was kind of dating her before Lindsay, so things are pretty much natural between us, now. I mean, it was awesome dancing with her at the party the other night and . . ."

Sorry, I'd like to write down what else he said but I unintentionally blocked it out. Yes, _unintentionally_. Seriously, like I want to hear about Shannon, a cheerleader friend of Lindsay's. Whatever. It just makes me even more confused about Troy and my relationship. Maybe it's a good thing we didn't kiss. Because if this is how he treats girls, moving on to a new one so quickly, perhaps I don't want to date him. He'd probably break my heart, anyway. So after Troy left, I composed this brilliant plan of action that will go into place starting tomorrow morning at school.

Presenting . . . _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days._

Okay, so is it my fault that one of the movies my mom and I watched today was _How to lose a guy in ten days_? Give me credit, diary! I changed it to only four days! I would have made it longer, but I decided that if I'm going to be able to handle myself at the dance and watch Troy and Shannon dance together again, I'll need to be over him. And yes, I know it's probably impossible to get over someone in only four days. I'm just going to have to try. I need to think of the actual plan which I will do later . . . It won't be hard, right? Right now I have to finish my chocolate.

Monday, October 5, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:47 PM.

Oh, I almost forgot.

6. How to lose a guy in ten days_: because it is my favorite movie as of now._

It's a good thing I missed school today, I would have received a zero on this assignment considering I only have six of the required fifteen things. Ugh, forget it. I'm just going to jam out the rest right now, even if its all BS.

7. East High: for being such a wonderful learning center for me.

8. Electricity: Need I say more?

9. Hair bands: for keeping my jungle of hair in place

10. Books: for letting me explore the unknown

11. The internet: same as number 8

12. Umbrellas: without them I'd be soaking wet

13. Mechanical pencils: who even uses regular pencils now, anyway?

14. Soap: without it the world would be a very unhygienic place.

15. My diary: for keeping all my secrets.

If you look past the fact that half of them are inventions, I don't think this list is all that bad . . . If you have an IQ of twelve.

Monday, October 5, 2007. My Bedroom, 5:13 PM.

Elle! Hey, hopefully I typed your number in correctly. Knowing our luck this probably went to Ms Darbus's phone instead. Oh, wait. She hates cell phones, so never mind. I was just thinking that we should get together to study today because we obviously didn't yesterday. Okay if I pick you up at five-thirty? - Troy

I have to say that I completely forgot about tutoring Troy until getting his text. I guess this whole ordeal with the almost kiss, the Shannon dancing, and the Dad-thing messed up my normal state of mind. I'm just hoping that it won't be as awkward as it was just after Troy and I escaped form under Chad's bed. Hopefully it will be one of those unspoken agreements, like how we never speak of my almost drowning.

Is it okay if Shannon is with us? She said she needs help with History too. -Troy.

That's, it. I'm wearing Troy's jacket. Or his sweatshirt. Hmm, which one will inflict more pain on Shannon? Decisions, Decisions . . .

Troysie - I'm fine with anything, just as long as we actually study. I'll be waiting outside for you at five-thirty. -Gabriella

At least Zeke, Chad, and Jason won't be there as well. I like Troy's friends and all, but I don't think I can handle them plus Shannon. All the extra credit from Mr. Lawrence in the world couldn't save me from the horror of a night like that.

Monday, October 5, 2007. My Bedroom, 11:27 PM.

Why is it that just when my life seems to be looking up, things go horribly, horribly wrong? And why is it that about eighty percent of my problems all link back to Troy Bolton?

Everything started out okay; Troy drove up in front of my house in his gorgeous BMW looking as good as ever -- with Shannon sitting in the back seat behind him. I myself went shotgun, trying to ignore the expression on Shannon's face when she realized I was donning Troy's Varsity Basketball captain sweatshirt. I also tried to refrain from smirking.

"Hey, Elle," Troy said, grinning at me as I slid into the front seat. "Before we go back to my house, we were thinking we'd grab some food. You game?"

That's the moment. Right there. This is where Shannon starts her little 'war' with me. You'll understand later . . .

"Uh, sure," I said, buckling my seatbelt. Troy started the engine, and we were off toward the Albuquerque Mall where I inferred we were having dinner.

"So, Isabella," Shannon said lightly, fluffing her hair annoyingly. "What kind of food do you like?"

It may seem like polite conversation, but just wait for it . . .

"Gabriella," I corrected. "I don't know. Anything, really. I especially like Mexican food."

"Oh," Shannon replied daintily, cocking her head to the side. "I guess you _would_ like something like that, wouldn't you?"

I frowned, turning around the seat to face her. "What do you mean?"

Shannon shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Oh, you know. What with all the cheese and guacamole and fried tortillas. It explains a lot."

I gaped at her before flipping my head around to look out the window. She was literally calling me fat! What the heck, right? I'm a size two or three! I'm sorry if I'm not a twig that will break in half if the wind blows into my torso.

Troy didn't seem to get what Shannon was implying and instead said, "Great idea, Shan. Lets go to _Freddie's_ for Mexican food."

Guys are idiots. Oh, and while I have you . . . Shan? Words don't describe.

We drove up into _Freddie's_ which is an awesome little place that's quant but receives dozens of customers. The food is authentic, there are a variety of arcade games in the waiting room, and the booths are cozy -- except when you're pushed up against a wall because Shannon decided she had no room for her purse, which, by the way, could hold a small whale inside of it. Troy and Shannon sat opposite me, and I quickly hid my face behind the menu, trying to think.

What would annoy Shannon the most? I could order a virgin margarita and 'accidentally' knock it over onto Shannon's white dress. But then I realized how expensive the margarita mix was and scrapped that idea.

While I was examining the combination plates I could easily hear Troy and Shannon's conversation.

"Baby," Shannon was saying. "Next time can we go to a different place with burgers, or something? I don't really like Mexican food."

"Really? Crap, I'm sorry, I didn't know. Maybe there's an arrangement we can make."

Two tacos with either an enchilada or one of our famous chile rellenos . . .

"S'cuse me, Waiter? Hi, yeah, uh, would it be possible to order a burger here?" Troy was asking.

A burger. At a freaking Mexican restaurant. Oh, please.

I peaked over the top of my menu to catch the waiter's surprised expression. It was probably the highlight of my evening. "Uh, well, I'll have to check with the kitchens."

"Thanks," Troy replied, being ever the gentleman, and picked up his own menu. "What's looking good to you, Elle?"

Three tacos, one tamale, and one quesadilla.

"Uuuum," I started, still gazing over the options. "I don't know, yet. I'm starving, though."

Just then a waiter walked by carrying a sizzling pan of a mixture of chicken, diced peppers, onion, cilantro, and tomatoes. Troy and I turned to face each other at exactly the same time, then exclaimed, "Fajitas!"

Troy grinned, high-fiving me across the table. "Hell, yeah, Elle."

Once again I caught Shannon glaring at me from behind her hand. "Troy," she said, breaking apart the moment. "I want a diet soda, please."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Troy replied hastily, sounding distracted.

From there dinner pretty much continued the same way. Every time Troy would begin talking to me, Shannon would cut him off with a complaint about how her special burger lacked pickles (at a Mexican restaurant!) or a comment like, "I can't wait to cheer for you at the first basketball game of the season." It was unnerving to the point where I began to wonder why Troy spent his time with people like Lindsay and Shannon.

Maybe it was how they always appeared perfect in every way or how they doused themselves in perfume. Most likely it was the way they put out for him, because I couldn't find a single thing that Shannon said enlightening or interesting. All I could think about was forcing myself not to get too close to Troy -- to go past the 'just friends' barrier. If I did, operation _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days _would virtually be a failure before I even wrote it out.

Thankfully dinner finally ended with Shannon dragging Troy away from the table to play a game of _Brick_ with her while I was finishing up my last fajita. The waiter arrived at the table with the bill, which I ended up having to pay when Shannon and Troy showed no signs of coming back. What was I supposed to do, leave the table without paying? The waiter would think I wasn't going to come back! So, yeah. Forty dollars drained from my wallet on a burger that was more expensive because this is a MEXICAN restaurant. I thought it was cute, though, when Troy found out I paid a bill that was only a third of mine and tried to stuff forty dollars into my backpack. I refused, though. If I let Troy pay for my meal, I'd be crossing the line. So I just shook my head, tried to smile, and headed outside to his car.

The night didn't seem so bad at that point, but when we arrived at Troy's house things began to cook up. First of all, Shannon claimed to have forgotten her backpack and decided instead to share Troy's history book. She was practically sitting on his lap while I droned on about ways to remember 'Land, labor, and Capital' and the inventions of the Industrial Revolution. It was sickening, because while Troy seemed really intent on trying to listen to what I was saying, Shannon kept distracting him by running her fingers through his hair are kissing his ear.

I almost wanted to say, "We're learning about the Potato Famine, Shannon, the lesson on foreplay is next week." But I didn't. Because I am THAT strong of a person.

Finally around nine o'clock I became so frustrated that I nearly slammed my textbook shut and through it at the wall, but instead I slid it into my backpack and muttered, "I should be getting home, now."

Troy pushed Shannon off his lap slightly, not noticing the sneer on her face. "It's only nine, though." He paused, really looking at me for a moment, just like he had before the whole 'almost kiss'. "Are you okay? I mean, because of the whole thing yesterday."

Of course Shannon took the chance to pipe up, "Ooh, I heard about that from Clarice. You know, the JV cheerleading captain? She said you almost committed suicide just because your dad called."

It literally took all my inner strength to not lash out and slap her face. I would have, but then Troy said, "Shan, don't believe all the crap those gossipers tell you."

I didn't say anything, but instead swung my backpack across my shoulders and sighed. Shannon had pouted at Troy, crossing her arms annoyingly. "Well, um," I started. "I guess I'll see you both tomorrow."

"Wait, I'll give you a lift home," Troy said, now fully pushing Shannon from his lap and getting to his feet.

"No, it's okay," I said, heading for the door. "My Mom's home tonight, so I'll just call her to pick me up."

As if. I think Troy and I both knew I was going to walk home whether he liked it or not, but he gave out a weak, "Are you sure?"

"Positive." I tried to smile, but the stress from everything was pounding into my heart again and I wanted to leave Troy's house as soon as possible. "Bye, Troy." Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Shannon."

Troy sighed softly, shooting me a grin. "See you tomorrow, Elle."

If only he knew just how much pain he was beginning to cause me. If only he knew how much I really liked him, how much I wished I hadn't been a wimp and had just kissed him under Chad's bed. But the fact is that I didn't, and I need to put plan _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days_ into play as soon as I can.

My horrible, nauseous night was not yet over, however, for as I was stepping out the front door, Coach Bolton drove up in his car. For some bizarre reason I thought he wouldn't notice me, even with the headlights burning holes into my head. But he rolled the window down and said, "Evening, Miss Montez. Where are you heading off into the dark?"

"Oh, I was just about to call my Mom to pick me up," I replied, hoping Coach Bolton's years of teaching didn't refine his skills in detecting lying students.

"Troy didn't offer to give you a ride home?" he asked reproachfully.

"Oh, no, he did," I reassured him. "But I told him not to bother because his girlfriend his here."

Coach Bolton's face changed into a weird expression before he shook his head and said, "Get in, Miss Montez. I'll drive you home."

What was I supposed to do, yell, "NEVER!" and dart down the street into the dark? I groaned inwardly and slid into the front seat of Coach Bolton's car, wishing the several minutes to my house would go by quickly. However, I ended up having a very interesting conversation with Troy's father that will never forget.

"So how's Troy doing in history?" Coach Bolton asked, pulling out of the driveway.

"Oh, he's doing much better already, Sir. He got a B on his last test."

"Good," he replied lightly, then, out of the blue, "Of course it must help that he has a nice young girl like yourself as his tutor."

I nearly choked on my own saliva before saying, "I'm sure it has nothing to do with me."

Coach Bolton laughed. "I know my son well enough to know when he's infatuated with someone, Miss Montez."

I wanted to find the hole in the floor of the car, climb into it, and die.

"Really," was all I could force out of my mouth.

"You see, the thing with Troy is that he takes after me," Coach Bolton continued. "He's afraid of commitment."

Now _that_ I knew to be true. Suddenly I was much more alert.

"It took me ages to finally realize that pushing Cathy away took more energy than facing the frightening concept of commitment," he said, strumming his fingertips on the stirring wheel. "When he finally comes to the same conclusion, things will work out okay."

By now we were pulling up to my mailbox and I was still very silent. I cleared my throat awkwardly before replying, "Um, thanks for the ride, Coach Bolton. I'll see you tomorrow in PE."

Coach Bolton nodded as I opened the side door of the car and stepped onto the pavement. "And you, Miss Montez." And then, as I slammed the door shut, I could have sworn I heard him say, "Don't give up."

Weird, right? It kind of makes me try to re-think these past few days with Troy. Was Coach Bolton completely pulling my leg, or was he actually giving me a helpful insight onto his son's mind? Either way, I'm still confused.

Monday, October 5, 2007. My Bedroom, 11:42 PM.

Nice maneuver tonight, but if you think you can pull that shit again tomorrow, you're very wrong, Elle. See you at 7:40, no exceptions. -Troy

I think as long as Troy is still together with Shannon I should cast aside what Coach Bolton said and go on with plan _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days._ Because if he keeps texting me like this, I can't think of another way that we can remain friends if I don't get over him. So . . .

__

How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days

1. Attempt to be nice to Shannon: Jealousy is not an exception!

2. Stop asking about my bra: He hasn't given it back yet, he won't in the near future.

3. Give back his jacket and sweatshirt: How can I get over him with his cologne wafting into my nose every five seconds?

4. Tell friends I am over him even when I'm not, yet: Verbalizing it will hopefully make it seem more like reality.

5.

Number five is left blank for later, set in stone incase something else comes about. Okay, so it's outlined in red ink. Big deal. But as of tomorrow, the plan is set into action!

* * *

A/N: Okay, so besides the obvious, "I hoped you liked it, please review and I'll send you a preview for the next chapter!" bit, I wanted to discuss a more serious topic that was brought about to me by one of my readers, _tofnl_. Apparently not only is this story being plagiarized, but also, strangely enough, so are pieces of my author bio page. The author's name is _arsenal144_ and the story is called _Gabriella's Diary. _I'm not sure if any of you have read this story, but it basically has the exact same premise of my story with a few differences to make it seem as though it isn't plagiarized. I cut and pasted a few pieces from the alleged story and bio beside my own to show you what I mean: 

Here's a piece from Arsenal144's bio page: "Derek-

My unbelievably hot best best best friend. He is also my crush( not that he will ever find out) and is completely clueless to the fact that i adore him! He has all the girls hanging onto him, and he has probably dated (and dumped) almost all of them. He plays football ( he is one year older than me) and made varsity his first year. He is exceptionally popular, and i am constanly reminded of this everytime I talk to him. You could safely say that i am a bit obsessed over him, which is why i have only had 3 short-term relationships. He is a huge player when it comes to dating, but is probably one of the sweetest guys in my life."

And mine: "Cameron- Probably my best friend. I've known him since third grade when he spilt his slushie all over my shirt in the snack bar line, lol. Insists on calling me Ara to bug me. His resemblance to Troy of _High School Musical_ is uncanny, like, he's varsity basketball captain and popular (unlike me, lol). He's a junior and I'm only a sophmore, so I'm dreading when he has to go to college! _sobs_. He's a bit of a player when it comes to girls but he's the best guy I've ever known."

And a few things from the actual stories:

Arsenal144: "My mom had said something about leaving late Thursday night for a business trip, and she might have mentioned that she would be gone till Monday."

Mine: "Well, my mom basically just informed me that she's going to be gone on a business trip for the rest of the weekend. Seriously, she isn't getting back until late Sunday evening or early Monday morning."

Arsenal144: "I will just look her up in the student handbook.

Name: Taylor Mckessie

School: East High School.

****

You have one hit. Yess! I found her!****

Name: Taylor Mckessie

IM: cptndecathlon

Interests: school, sleepovers, decathlon team, etc."

Mine: "I'll go get the student guide.

Ha! It so figures:

Name: Troy A. Bolton

Grade: 11

Age: 17

Home phone number: 353-0799

Cell phone number: _Not Provided_

AIM Screen name: CaptnTB14

Personal Interests: Basketball, cheerleaders, hanging with friends"

I would keep going, but the similarities go on and on and on. Even if it's not exact like the one's above, it's ideas like the teacher calling Gabriella, to Troy having a date the first night Gabi's supposed to tutor him . . . Please check it out for yourself if you wish, but I will send the author a PM asking her to please remove the story or I will report her to the fanfiction admins. Plagiarism is obviously a very serious matter and because I have worked so hard on this story it is not to be taken lightly. It also pains me that _Arsenal144 _would use Cameron, who, if you guys don't know already considering my most recent story, is very close to my heart, as a pawn in this ploy.

Anyway, I'd like to thank you guys for supporting this fiction so truly and for not trying to pull off my ideas as your own -- you really are the **_true_** fans of "Diary of a Nerd". Cheers! Much love, Crystalbluu


	15. AN

A/N: Hey, everyone! So sorry this isn't a chapter, but I haven't updated in so long and some of you were wondering if something happened to me. Don't worry: the story is not abandoned, in fact the next chapter is almost done. It's been a hard chapter to write, and I've re-written it several times because it is a BIG transitional chapter and I want it to be just right. I was going to update yesterday, but my computer literally turned off when someone (who is an idiot, lol) stepped on the plug switch and my computer turned off, so I lost half the chapter. Unfortunetly I am leaving tomorrow for Las Vegas and won't be back until Thursday and probably won't be able to update until then.

Now, to disscuss some other issues. The plagiarism incident is under control and has been for a while. Arsenal144 apologized and said she had no idea of the similarities between my story and hers. We are now friends, but thanks to all of you for your kind support! Now, I do have to admit that part of the reason I haven't been able to update is because I have a new edition to my life. So, yes, to abort all the rumors, I am dating my best friend, Cameron, otherwise known as the guy who wrote the letter for 'Like a fat kid loves cake'. Just as I'm sure most of you have experienced with new relationships, they are very exciting and Cam took up a lot of my time. I'm getting my priorities sorted, and will hopefully be back on my 'update every week on Saturdays' regime after this upcoming chapter.

And now I have to thank a few, select people on this website for reminding me to get my ass away from Cameron and start writing this story:

sofia317

Promise-V

World of Peace

Midnight-Heart

Thankss, guys! In dedication to you and everyone else who reviews this story faithfully, I have enclosed the first part of the chapter. Hope you enjoy it and continue to stick with me! Update will definitely be on either Thurday or Friday. If not I'll make Troy and Gabi get togeter sooner . . . lol, JK. But they WILL be together eventually! Cheers! Crystalbluu.

TEASER:

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. My Kitchen, 7:24 AM.

Is it wrong of me to hope that Shannon isn't on the ride to school today, too? I mean, it's not like I'm breaking any rules in the _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days_ plan. Wait . . . Darn it, I only have THREE days left.

Which reminds me. The dance is in three days. Am I just going to fly solo or should I drag Kelsi, or someone, with me? I don't want to be the -- wait, Troy and Shannon, Chad and Taylor, Sharpay and Zeke -- seventh wheel. If that's even possible. Because how uncomfortable would that be? I can see it now:

Fast song ends, slow song starts, everyone leaves with their respective partner, and I'm left by the punch bowl to stuff myself with stale cookies and watery guacamole. Sounds fun . . . NOT.

Maybe I just shouldn't go. It's not like I own a suitable dress, anyway. I could stay home, watch the movie _Carrie_, and think about how if I had actually gone to the dance, Carrie's experience could possibly have happened to me. Okay, so maybe not.

Oh, Troy just pulled up into the driveway. He's early today.

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. Homeroom, 8:05 AM.

Once again I am THE first one in this classroom and the bell doesn't ring for another six minutes. And, no. Ms. Darbus is NOT back, yet. I really, truly wonder where she is and do not want to think about the item she grabbed at _Rite Aide_ the other day. It's Troy's fault that I'm so early, really. The reason HE came to pick me up early was because he wanted to take me to _Starbucks_ for breakfast and 'talk' to me.

What about, you ask? Well, literally the entire ride I kept thinking, "Oh, my gosh. Chad told him I have feelings for him. Stupid Afro-boy!" But as it turned out, Troy didn't want to talk to me about that. Nope, he wanted to ask me something else.

"So, Elle," he said as we walked into _Starbucks_. "You want anything?"

Besides the fact that I was practically on a date with him and was completely breaking my pact, I mumbled that I liked caramel macchiatos. It's not my fault he happened to hear me and ordered a grandé coffee with my name written across it.

And really quickly, while I'm on the subject, why is it that every person working at _Starbucks _doesn't know how to spell any common names? Like, the last time Taylor and I went here they spelled 'Taylor' like T-A-Y-L-E-R. And, okay. I guess that's a common mistake. But when Troy handed me my cup that had G-A-B-R-Y-E-L-L-A written across the side, I just knew that there must be some sort of brainwashing machine that makes normally smart people atrocious spellers.


	16. Chapter 13

A/N: Authors note at the end, enjoy the LONG awaited chapter! And I'm sorry if there's any mistakes, I tried to get this out as SOON as I could and will go back to edit it later. Thanks!

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. My Kitchen, 7:24 AM.

Is it wrong of me to hope that Shannon isn't on the ride to school today, too? I mean, it's not like I'm breaking any rules in the _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days_ plan. Wait . . . Darn it, I only have THREE days left.

Which reminds me. The dance is in three days. Am I just going to fly solo or should I drag Kelsi, or someone, with me? I don't want to be the -- wait, Troy and Shannon, Chad and Taylor, Sharpay and Zeke -- seventh wheel. If that's even possible. Because how uncomfortable would that be? I can see it now:

Fast song ends, slow song starts, everyone leaves with their respective partner, and I'm left by the punch bowl to stuff myself with stale cookies and watery guacamole. Sounds fun . . . NOT.

Maybe I just shouldn't go. It's not like I own a suitable dress, anyway. I could stay home, watch the movie _Carrie_, and think about how if I had actually gone to the dance, Carrie's experience could possibly have happened to me. Okay, so maybe not.

Oh, Troy just pulled up into the driveway. He's early today.

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. Homeroom, 8:05 AM.

Once again I am THE first one in this classroom and the bell doesn't ring for another six minutes. And, no. Ms. Darbus is NOT back, yet. I really, truly wonder where she is and do not want to think about the item she grabbed at _Rite Aide_ the other day. It's Troy's fault that I'm so early, really. The reason HE came to pick me up early was because he wanted to take me to _Starbucks_ for breakfast and 'talk' to me.

What about, you ask? Well, literally the entire ride I kept thinking, "Oh, my gosh. Chad told him I have feelings for him. Stupid Afro-boy!" But as it turned out, Troy didn't want to talk to me about that. Nope, he wanted to ask me something else.

"So, Elle," he said as we walked into _Starbucks_. "You want anything?"

Besides the fact that I was practically on a date with him and was completely breaking my pact, I mumbled that I liked caramel macchiatos. It's not my fault he happened to hear me and ordered a grandé coffee with my name written across it.

And really quickly, while I'm on the subject, why is it that every person working at _Starbucks _doesn't know how to spell any common names? Like, the last time Taylor and I went here they spelled 'Taylor' like T-A-Y-L-E-R. And, okay. I guess that's a common mistake. But when Troy handed me my cup that had G-A-B-R-Y-E-L-L-A written across the side, I just knew that there must be some sort of brainwashing machine that makes normally smart people atrocious spellers.

But, anyway. Troy and I sat at a small table in the corner of the room, away from all the college procrastinators typing furiously on their laptops. We hadn't exactly spoken properly since last night, and after Coach Bolton's rather, erm, lovely talk, I didn't know what to say to him. Luckily Troy started up the conversation.

"So, Elle," he began, stirring the straw in his vente Java Chip Frappuccino. "I just wanted to know what was up. You know, last night. You seemed off."

Of course I seemed 'off'. Shannon is basically a smarter version of Lindsay. Not to mention I'm gracing the school for the first time in a few days today.

"I'm fine," I said lightly, trying but failing to make myself sound convincing. "I just have . . . A lot on my mind."

Troy gave a curt nod, still looking at me with his calculating blue eyes. "Okay. When you feel like actually telling me what's up, I'm here."

Darn him and his intelligence.

I just took a sip of my coffee. I wasn't feeling like talking about my issues just yet. I still don't. In fact, I'm NEVER going to tell Troy that I had feelings for him. Yes, _had_. Come three days and I'll be over him.

"So," Troy said, grinning slightly. "Shannon's cool, right?"

Ahem. NO!

"She's, erm, smarter than Lindsay, I guess," I replied hesitantly. "What ever happened yesterday at school? Did you see her?"

Troy nodded, his mouth full of coffee. After swallowing, he said, "Yeah. I really wanted to go up to her and just tell her how much of a bitch she is, but I decided to do what you said." Perhaps my facial expression revealed I couldn't remember my own advice, for Troy added, "Ignore her."

"Oh. Right."

Troy glanced at his cell phone for a moment, then suddenly started to clean up our small table. "We should get to school," he said, taking a last, long drink from his coffee and tossing the empty cup into the trashcan.

All I have to say about our little 'meeting' is how _awkward_ it was talking to him. I mean, three days ago I was almost kissing him and now he's dating Shannon and I'm attempting to get over him. High School sucks. Or rather, life with Troy Bolton.

Uh, oh. Lindsay just walked into the classroom. And we still have a few minutes before the usual rush of students make their way in. Great.

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. Homeroom, 8:12 AM.

That was . . . Odd. I mean really, really weird. So Lindsay walks in with a frown on her face and huffs into the chair behind me. I wanted to do what Troy was doing, you know? But ignoring her became hard when she walloped me with her purse and seethed, "You. Why aren't you upset like I am?"

Excuse me. What the heck is she talking about, right? I guess she could have meant the whole thing with my father, but that was NOT what she was hinting at.

I turned around in my seat and kind of went, "Huh?"

"You never really liked him, did you? You actually wanted to be friends." Lindsay sighed, and slumped dramatically into her seat.

"Um," I started. "What are you talking about?"

Lindsay rolled her blue eyes and said, "Troy! Because if you actually liked him like I thought you did, you'd be just as mad as I am about him dating my now ex-best friend."

And I thought everything in Barbie-world with all the beautiful, popular people was heaven. I don't think I realized just how much Lindsay actually liked Troy until that moment. Forgive me, it was kind of clouded by all her antics such as the making of a Troy-obsessive website.

"Maybe I just don't freak out when he makes his own decision to date someone. Maybe you just have to . . . Accept the fact that he will never date you and that you should move on."

I had voiced my own intentions for myself to Lindsay. Doubt she'll follow them, but saying them out loud helped to convince me I was doing the right thing. A little bit, anyway.

Lindsay cocked her head to the side and went, "Why would I do that? If you love someone, they need to know how you feel. Nobody stands in my way of getting Troy. I _will_ have him back."

By now people were striding into the classroom, so I grabbed my bag and moved to the back of the room, away from Lindsay. I was still mad at her for making such a horrible website. Plus, I knew Troy would sit in the front and after the awkwardness at _Starbucks_ I wanted to be alone.

So here I am, watching Ms. Brown write the agenda on the board. Chad, Taylor, Shannon, and Troy still aren't here, but the bell rings in two minutes. Yup, here comes Taylor and Chad. They just sat in their usual seats. Lindsay has now moved to the seat I usually occupy, so they're looking at her with weird expressions. Maybe they think I'm absent again, or something. With all the seats around me being filled, I'm kind of invisible to the front of the room.

Bell rings in one minute. Troy should be coming in any second now . . . Yup. There he is with Shannon hanging off his arm, just like Lindsay did last week. Okay, instead of taking her own seat (because her seat is too far away from Troy), she sat on Troy's lap. How adorable! I'm going to go throw up now. And there's the bell.

Gosh, I wonder when Ms. Darbus is going to come back. Surely she's used up that box of condoms by now. Ew, bad image. Oh! I have to turn in my paper. You know, the one with my 'fifteen favorite things'? Pshh, like that whole thing wasn't all made up. Okay, I turned it in. Now all I have to do is get through the rest of this class.

"You may now get together with your study partners for the remainder of the class period."

Thanks, Ms. Brown. You fill the class with wondrous wisdom! Troy's pushing Shannon off his lap. She's retreated pitifully to her usual seat several desks behind him. And now he's turned in his seat to see Lindsay instead of myself. Wow. That wasn't exactly a happy expression. He just took out his cell phone. This can't be good.

Five, four, three, two . . . Oops, I was off by a second. Incoming text from Mr. Bolton.

_Elle-- Where are you? Lindsay is in your usual seat. Did you go home sick?_

I feel like I'm sick. But emotionally sick, not coughing up a lung, or something. He's looking around the classroom now. Too bad he can't see me behind Lenard Bowild, here. The poor guy could take up two seats with all the extra weight he's carrying.

_Troysie-- I'm in the back. _

_Elle-- Why? Wait, I think I see your hair behind Bowild._

Once again my heavily curly hair gives me away. Thanks a lot, hair! Or rather my mother who gave me the genes for this disruptive mass of curls. Ah, well here he comes. He's walking down the isle, and -- never mind. Shannon intercepted him. Figures. It appears she's rid herself of her former study partner. Pshh.

I'm just going to leave right now. I don't feel like talking to Troy, especially if it means Shannon will be hanging of his perfect shoulder. But what should I do? If I go to the health office, Troy's natural 'protective' instinct will kick in and he'll probably figure out some way to follow me. And then Shannon will faint like the damsel in distress she pretends to be . . . I hope she hits her head on the edge of a desk in the process. Wait, I could pretend I got a call slip form the office. I actually could use a trip to the counseling office. Mentally, anyway. It's not like I would really go there to confess my troubles to the school shrink. Knowing my luck it'd end up being taped and posted on _youtube_, or something. Ugh, I can see it now:

_**Isabella Montez: school nerd. Troy Bolton: school superstar. HOW DOES IT COMPUTE?**_

Well, it obviously doesn't. At least Troy seems to think so, as of right now. I think I'm going to throw up . . . Wait! Throw up! Well, not really. I could go tell Ms. Brown that I have to got to the restroom, that I'm not feeling well, and I'm not sure when I'll get back. Case closed!

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. West Girl's Bathroom, 8:26 AM.

Well, I'm in the bathroom, now. And I'm not in the stall, so you can stop freaking out that you're going to get dropped into the toilet, diary. Although Susan Crafield _did_ nearly splash a tidal wave onto you five minutes ago when she through a bad test grade into the sink . . .

But, anyway. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't even know WHY I'm acting like this. Troy should be able to date whomever he wants, right? It shouldn't bother me if he dates Ms. Darbus! Okay, besides the scary pedophile thing. All I'm trying to say is that I'm being stupid. It's BETTER that Troy thinks I like him as a friend. Things would just get complicated, or he'd laugh at me and we wouldn't be friends anymore. I should be _glad_ that I have Shannon as a scapegoat. They'll be happy go-lucky while I sit behind them and pretend to be the non-jealous, third party person. My plan of getting over Troy will fall in place, and everything will go back to the way things were before Troy Bolton stepped into my life. Who knows, maybe we'll even stay friends if Shannon doesn't drive him away.

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. Chemistry, 10:12 PM.

This is great. Just great. We're doing a lab today and my usual lab partner, Megan Lowfley, is absent. And guess who my replacement partner is? Terry Mantis. The short, greasy haired kid with thick rimmed glasses who apparently has a thing for Troy. Ew. I won't be mean, of course. That's more Lindsay's style. She'd throw a huge fit and hurt Terry's feelings. I, however, am going to take the highroad.

Mrs. Martinez, my chemistry teacher, just handed us a worksheet. Apparently we're supposed to find out how many calories are used in the process of burning a candle. _Fascinating_. Oh, and here comes Terry. Hopefully he won't drip any grease onto the worksheet . . . Hey, I never said I wasn't going to be mean to him in this diary!

"Hi, Terry," I said, trying to be somewhat friendly even when my life has been hell lately.

Terry kind of smiled creepily at me and went, "So nice to see you this fine, dear morning, dear Gabriella Anne Montez."

How does he know my middle name?

"Right, so, I already know the answer to this assignment because we did it in practice for the Scholastic Decathlon, so you can do most of the lab, if you want to." I pushed the sheet toward him, trying not to flinch at the way he was staring at me. Somehow the light is reflecting of his glasses, making his eyes look possessed.

"Anything, for you," Terry replied, and immediately began setting the weights up to measure the original weight of the candle.

He's working, now, but every once in a while he's shoots me a weird glance. Scary. _This_ is the type of kid who needs to pay a visit to the school's shrink. I mean, really. Who in the right mind would wear the same _Star Wars_ shirt to school every single day? It's inhuman. He should be apart of _Star Wars. _

"So, Gabriella Anne," Terry started suddenly. "It seems we're a team, here."

"Uh, really? I'm not really doing anything, so technically you're a one-man show," I replied, trying to hide my face behind this diary. Why didn't I get the larger one? I HAD to go for the matching pen, didn't I?

"So you think I'm a man?"

It's impossible to resist cringing, especially when the weirdo making you cringe follows his previous statement with, "Would you be my escort to the dance?"

So I'm _his_ escort? What, he's too girly to escort me? And then, stupidly, I blurted out, "But what about Troy?"

Terry froze, nearly catching the elbow of his precious shirt on fire when it approached the flaming Bunsen Burner. "Are you not close with Mr. Bolton?"

I choked, forgetting that Terry and I were seated at a lab table in the middle of a crowded classroom. "Mr. Bolton?" I gasped. "You mean Troy's _Dad_?"

Terry swallowed weirdly, inhaling the fumes of the melting candle like a vampire smelling blood. "When Troy sees you and I together . . ." he muttered, twitching freakily.

"Um," I stuttered, horrified. "I'm just going to go over there." I tripped over my backpack before snatching it off the ground.

I sauntered over to where Taylor was carefully melting the wax with her partner who was snoring on the table, drooling on his binder. "Taylor," I hissed.

Taylor jumped, having been so focused on her assignment, and looked up, surprised. "What, Gabi? Shouldn't you be over there with . . . Mr. Freaky-Twitching-Guy?"

I followed Taylor's gaze back over to my former lab table. Terry appeared to be convulsing and sniggering soundlessly, causing the surrounding student's to move as far away from him as possible.

"Not anymore," I muttered darkly. "He asked me to the dance in order to make Troy jealous, or something."

"What?"

I starred at Taylor for a moment, but her lips hadn't moved. Her lab partner had awakened, and, now that his dark hair wasn't obscuring his face, I realized it was Devin O'Connal.

Devin's deeply green eyes were wide with devious surprise, and he was grinning slightly. "Bolton has a fan boy?"

I pursed my lips for two reasons. Firstly, it was none of O'Connal's business if Troy had problems with maniacal boys who were in love with him. Secondly, Devin O'Connal had never spoken a work to me before in my entire life. He was one of those 'bad boy' figures. You know, with the dark, messy hair and leather jacket. I guess part of the reason we had never spoken was because _I_ never had the desire to speak to _him_.

"Where does this matter concern you?" I asked shrewdly, narrowing my eyes. If word got out that Terry mantis had asked me to the dance, well . . . I would be _less_ than a nerd.

Devin shook his hair out of his eyes and leaned back against his hand. "It doesn't, which is all the more reason to become involved."

Taylor rolled her eyes and turned, shoving the lab paper into Devin's face. "I did the lab, you do the paperwork."

"Sure, sure," Devin muttered, rolling his shoulders and stealing a pen from the girl sitting behind him. She began to protest, but he flashed her a smile and she sputtered to a stop, allowing him to have it.

I glared at him for a minute, not really knowing why I was so mad. When I looked back at Taylor, she was typing horridly into her cell phone.

"Taylor, don't tell anyone!" I gasped suddenly, causing several people to turn around and look at me curiously.

"Her monthly bill came early," Devin said suddenly, causing the onlookers to look away just as quickly as they'd turned around.

I didn't even have the energy to punch the idiot who was making my day ten times worse then how it had begun. Instead, I went, "No, it hasn't!" and tried to hide my now crimson cheeks.

"Don't worry, Gabi, I'm just telling Sharpay."

It's a good thing Mrs. Martinez announced that the bell would be ringing shortly and that we had to turn in the lab papers or I probably would have done something stupid, like inform O'Connal how I practically loved Troy Bolton and it was now a love square between Troy, Shannon, Terry, and myself.

I sighed heavily and shook my head. "Don't tell anyone else, okay? That means you, too, O'Connal!"

Devin shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, Babe."

UGH! High school boys are MORNONS! Absolute ingrates!

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. History, 11:49 AM.

Well, the bell rings in a couple of minutes. The only thing is that I've spent the past hour talking with the most random person EVER: Devin O'Connell. That's right, he who makes girls faint just as much as Troy Bolton was actually speaking to ME!

I was basically minding my own business, happy that Terry Mantis is only in my chemistry class, when there was a squeaking sound of a desk being scooted next to my own. I looked up only to jump back because he was so _close_ to me.

"What do you want?" I asked, perpetually annoyed by the smirk that was on his face.

"Oh, you know. Wanted to see how you were holding up after Mantis pulled the big invite to this Friday's dance, but you know."

I laid my head into my arms and said in a muffled voice, "You said, 'you know' twice."

"So."

I looked up at him incredulously, shaking my head. "Why some girls at this school seem to like you, I don't know."

"Hey, it's not like I use any of them. When they come after me, they _know_ I'm not going to be committed."

I cleared me throat, turning away. That was something Troy and Devin didn't have in common. Troy lead girls on, girls like me. Devin made it certain the girls knew he was only looking for a good time.

"So what are you going to do?" Devin's voice asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Nothing. These things always seem to happen to me lately, anyway," I replied, forgetting who I was talking to. "Ever since . . ." I paused, realizing it was O'Connal who was listening to me.

He moved his head in a sort of rocking way as he said, "Ever since . . .?"

"I'm not telling this to you."

Devin laughed, and even though I'm having problems with my feelings with Troy, I had to admit that Devin _was_ exceptionally good-looking. Just in a different way than Troy.

"I know more than people at this crappy school give me credit for, Montez," he said haughtily, crossing his arms. "Instead of being the big 'show-off', I sit back and watch the show. And lately, its _you_ who's been stirring up the gossip in jock-world."

I groaned, looking up on a reflex to see Troy. Unfortunately he was eyeing Devin and me with an emotionless expression on his face, so I looked away quickly. "This is ridiculous," I replied hastily. "You don't know anything."

Devin grinned, impossibly white teeth flashing. He looked like a supermodel for motorcycles, whereas Troy was a supermodel for Gatorade. "I know that you like the basketball show-off over there more than you should."

Okay, maybe he knew more than I had anticipated.

I glared at him, blushing. "Has anyone ever told you to mind your own business?"

Devin nodded. "Sure. You have. Twice."

I let out a weird noise, a mix of anger, despair, and embarrassment. "What do you want from me, O'Connal? You show up today, randomly invading my life like I actually know you. No, like you! But I don't, so would you leave me alone?"

Devin raised his hands in surrender, his eyes mischievous. "Fine. But just remember that I'm always here."

I snorted, already turning away from him. Like _that_ would ever happen, right? Me turning for Devin O'Connal's comfort is like hell freezing over or Chad cutting his hair. Never happening.

Tuesday, October 6, 2007. Physics AP, 1:04 PM.

It seems today is my day of weirdness, awkwardness, and chaos. And, yes. I know 'chaos' doesn't end in 'ness'. Deal with it.

I was so wrapped up in my conversation with O'Connal that I ended up not sitting where I usually do at lunch. I followed Taylor and Sharpay over to where Chad, Zeke, and Troy were sitting at a table with their jock and cheerleader friends and took a seat. I didn't miss the glare Shannon sent me, but everyone else did. Figures, right? Pretending I hadn't seen a thing, I opened up my brown lunch bag and took out my signature turkey sandwich.

"So, Gabi," Taylor said, shifting the macaroni in her own cafeteria lunch. "Tell the guys what happened earlier!"

I really had no intention of telling anyone because I find the situation almost more embarrassing than comical. But of course every person at the table looked up from their lunches to me with interested eyes.

"It's nothing," I said relentlessly, clearing my throat in the awkward silence.

"No, it's not nothing!" Sharpay exclaimed over her perfectly arranged spicy tuna roll lunch. She turned to Zeke, smiling brightly. "Someone asked Gabriella to the dance!"

Troy immediately started choking and he grimaced as he tried to gain control over his body and swallow his mouthful of food properly.

I sighed, throwing myself down onto the table, nearly knocking over my can of soda. Thankfully it was unopened or it would have spilt all over poor Jason. Chad slapped Troy on the back a few times until Troy finally breathed in, sputtering.

"Who asked?" Zeke said suddenly, probably trying to exchange the focus away from Troy's near death.

Before I could open my mouth and admit that the wretched Terry Mantis had asked me, Troy blurted out, "It's that O'Connal guy, isn't it?"

I'm not sure if it was just me, but I swear Troy almost sounded bitter when he asked. Everyone, including myself, was shocked at Troy's comment. I mean, come on. Devin O'Connal asking ME to the dance? Pu-lease.

"Yup," Taylor stated suddenly, and my mouth dropped to the floor with her single word. When I started to protest, she kicked me under the table. Hard. "Isn't that right, Gabi?"

I had bit my lip to refrain from squeaking in pain, but I gasped, "Yeah!" in a pained voice, all the while staring at Taylor, horribly confused. Sharpay, too, was a little surprised, but covered up my silence for me by saying, "Isn't it great, everyone?"

"I think it's awesome, Gabriella," Jason said, being the suck up he always is. Still, it was comforting to have some one accept my fake date to the dance. NOT.

"Doesn't he play lacrosse, or something?" Chad asked.

"No," Zeke replied, handing Sharpay a bag of his home-made cookies. She giggled flirtatiously. "I think he plays water polo."

"That doesn't sound right," Chad countered, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember. "What sport _does_ he play?"

I was about to say that O'Connal didn't play a sport at all. At least, from the way he was insulting jocks in history it didn't seem like he played anything. But then one word rang out across the table:

"Football."

Everyone turned to look at Troy after he had spat the word out. He didn't look very happy at all, and his expression was making me uncomfortable, so I stood up saying, "I guess I'm not very hungry after all, want to come with me, TAYLOR?"

I grabbed the shoulder of her sweater and pulled her up as Sharpay went, "Yeah, I'll take these cookies with me, see you later, Zeke."

I dragged Taylor out of the cafeteria and into the empty hallway with Sharpay in tow. When I was sure the corridor was completely empty except for the three of us, I asked in an angry tone, "Why the heck did you say I was going to the dance with O'Connal?"

Taylor smiled slightly, crossing her arms as if she had done some sort of a good deed. "Okay, I was originally aiming for the truth. But did you _see_ how livid he was when he asked if you were going with Devin?"

"She's right," Sharpay agreed, flipping her hair. "He nearly choked. Totally jealous. Besides," she said, smiling almost dreamily. "It's not like Devin O'Connal is anything hard to look at."

I groaned, shaking my head. "This is the worst. Day. Ever," I muttered warily. "What the heck am I supposed to do? Go up to him say, 'hey there, you free for the dance'?"

Sharpay and Taylor nodded.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don't do that sort of thing, though."

"Gabi," Taylor started. "If you really like Troy, then now you do."

"Wouldn't that be using O'Connal, then?" I asked.

"Not unless you tell him your purpose. He's a pretty cool guy, Gabi," Sharpay said. "He'd probably go for it."

So now, not only am I struggling with the prospect that I'm trying to GET OVER Troy Bolton, but I'm also trying to make him jealous. And in the process of doing that, I apparently have to ask Devin O'Connal to the dance this Friday.

A/N: Oh, my gosh! I'm soooooooo sorry for how long its taken me to update! Practically a month! And, to be honest, a WAS going to update last Saturday but I got the stomach flu and haven't been able to leave the bathroom, lol. Also, this chapter was REALLY hard to write. I wanted you guys to NOT hate Devin so much because I actually really like him. And don't all you Troyella lovers worry, we all know how this story will end . . . Eventually. TeeHee. Anyway, because it's approaching summer here, I will definitely TRY to get back onto my usual schedule of updating. It will never be THIS long of a wait again, so stay with me on that note. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW and you'll get a preview of the next chapter!

Cheers! --Crystalbluu


	17. Chapter 14

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back! Really quickly, though, just wanted to let you know that I have a live journal now. The link to it is in my profile. I rant about random things, talk about when I'll update, etc, etc. View it if you like!

* * *

Tuesday, October 6. Locker 523, 4:22 PM.

I'm told that this locker supposedly belongs to Devin O'Connal by a very reliable source. If you would call Sharpay that, anyway. She would have stayed here with me to verify her knowledge, but her brother, Ryan, has some sort of dance rehearsal thing at the local theatre, so she had to leave me here. Alone. I've been standing like an idiot for almost an hour waiting for him to show his sorry hide but I haven't seen any sign of him.

He probably doesn't even use his locker. Maybe he's even at home at this very second. Why would someone who could care less about school have a need for his text books after school? Certainly not to do _homework_ . . . Actually, I don't even know if he's a good student, or not. Beyond today I've never spoken a single syllable with him.

I wish he'd hurry up. Troy's probably going to be looking for me soon because his basketball practice ends in a few minutes. If he isn't still mad at me for unknown reasons. Why should he care if I was going to the dance with someone? I know Sharpay and Taylor said he was jealous, but personally I don't see someone like Troy Bolton being jealous over someone like _me_. And, okay, so he started choking when he heard I was 'going to the dance with someone'. I'm sure if it were Shannon he would have tipped over the table. _That_ would be jealousy.

"Ahem."

Oops. Just looked up. O'Connal's finally here. Only, he looks much different then he usually does. His leather jacket is missing and so are his ripped jeans. Instead he's wearing a football uniform, pads and all, helmet tucked under one arm. And, okay. I seriously have NO attraction whatsoever to O'Connal in any way . . . But I wouldn't be a girl if I didn't find his flushed face and sweaty hair somewhat attractive.

"Uh, hi," I said slowly. He continued to look at me oddly, and it took a moment for me to realize the reason was because I was leaning against his locker. "Oh, sorry."

I pushed off his locker with my elbows and turned to stand with my arms crossed as he raised an eyebrow at me and twirled the lock on his locker.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm waiting here for you," I said, already forgetting the entire speech I'd planned out while waiting for him to arrive.

Devin chuckled, balancing his helmet as he dug out a battered backpack. "Not wondering. Just surprised, I guess. Usually when girls hang around waiting for me they have an ulterior motive which I _know_ you don't have." And before I could stop him, he said, "Unless you _do_ have that motive."

"Definitely not."

He shrugged, then tossed me his helmet which I nearly dropped to the floor. "Mind holding this for me?"

I stared peculiarly at him as he turned back to his locker and pulled a trigonometry AP text book from his locker and slid it into his backpack. I couldn't help myself from asking, "You take AP classes?"

"Three of them," Devin replied offhandedly. "But I doubt you waited roughly an hour for me to come back from football practice to discuss my academic schedule, Sweetheart. You're lucky I didn't feel like changing in the locker room today, or you'd have been waiting a good twenty minutes longer."

I decided to push aside the fact he's called me sweetheart and get straight to the point. "I need a . . . A favor."

Devin shut his locker with a slam and turned to me, grin stretched across his face. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. You don't even like me, remember?"

"And you basically said you hated jocks when you _are_ one," I said, gesturing to his outfit and gripping his helmet to my chest. "At least I'm not a hypocrite."

Devin suddenly grabbed the helmet and dragged me forward until we were literally centimeters apart. The only other guy I had been this close to had been Troy, but this was completely different. With Troy I was afraid. Scared because of what I wanted to do to him, which was to close the space between us and kiss him. It was a feeling I had never experienced with anyone else, yet it felt natural to be feeling it. With O'Connal, I wasn't afraid in the slightest. It was like getting into a fight with a brother. More or less, I suppose, because I still couldn't help but think he had really entrancing green eyes and a model's facial structure. But I had the strength to stare right back at O'Connal without having the urge to fling myself at him. The raw attraction I had with Troy was absent.

Devin sort of let out a breath as he looked at me with calculating eyes. I don't know what I expected him to do, but what he said certainly surprised me. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit, Montez. You see yourself as a nerd simply because you happen to be smart. And in the process of that, somehow you seem to have come to the conclusion that you are unattractive."

I held my breath, unable to reply. Devin continued, unperturbed by my silence. "Now, what you _don't _see, is the fact that you are completely the opposite. So while you go on disliking Bolton's pretty airheads, you should realize that in a way, you yourself are being just as hypocritical as I am. Just because I'm a good football player doesn't mean I enjoy my idiot teammates who are as stereotypical as the books. And just because you're intelligent doesn't mean you aren't as beautiful as the rest of the girls this school has to offer."

Perhaps it was because O'Connal was one of the first guys to _ever_ call me beautiful, but I couldn't get my mouth to work properly. And this became a _huge_ dilemma when none other than Troy appeared from around the corner, backpack and gym bag in hand. At first I swear I saw his jaw clench and his eyes flash, but within the next second his face was so emotionless that I'm sure I imagined the entire thing. I tried to push Devin away from me, but because his back was to Troy, he hadn't seen him coming.

"Am I giving you a ride home, Gabriella, or are you receiving one from your new boyfriend?"

Troy's use of my full name instead of my nickname stung, but his voice caused O'Connal to let me take a step back. Or maybe it was because Troy had referred to us as a couple. Devin turned with a smirk on his face and crossed his arms. "Luckily for you, she isn't my girlfriend, Bolton."

Troy breathed a sharp exhale through his nose, then replied in a dull tone, "Oh, silly me. You two are just going to Friday's dance together."

Devin opened his mouth to retort, but it was if suddenly a light bulb flashed through his mind. He glanced sideways at me for a moment, then said, "Yeah, so we are."

I swear I felt my jaw hit the floor. "I, uh - "

But Devin cut me off. "I'll call you later Gabs," he said in a casual tone as if he had said it to me countless times before. He then leaned in to take his helmet from me, but in the process brushed his lips against my cheek. His action didn't even cause me to blush as I thought it would have. And before I could mention that he didn't even have my phone number, Devin was stalking away with Troy glaring at his retreating back.

If I had thought coffee with Troy earlier this morning was awkward, nothing compares to how awkward things are right now. Troy and I are walking to his car and he is downright refusing to look at me. Almost as if he's mad at me. When I've literally done _nothing_. I'm still confused about what just happened. Like why Devin agreed with Troy that he was taking me to the dance before I even mentioned my favor to him.

But this silence with Troy . . . It's almost worse than when I first started tutoring him. Then at least he spoke to me. Sure, it might have been an insult, but he acknowledged my existence. I'm going to try to break the silence.

"How was basketball practice?" I asked hesitantly.

"Fine," he replied curtly.

Well, that worked. NOT. I'll try again.

"So, whose house are we studying at?" I asked.

Troy didn't answer, but instead pulled up into my driveway. Without looking at me, he said, "Look, Gabriella. You've helped me reorganize my faulty study habits in history and now my grade has been going up every test. I thank you for that, but I think . . ." he paused, looking out the window. "I don't really need you to tutor me anymore."

Once again I was finding myself utterly speechless. When I finally found my words, I said, "So, this is it."

"Yeah."

Hot tears started to press against my eyes, but I fought to keep them back. "Just, 'goodbye'?"

Troy finally turned to look at me, and by this time I couldn't help but let a few tears leak down my cheeks. To his credit, he looked genuinely upset. Not that I really care when he's just kicking me out. "Well, I said thank you. And we'll still see each other in school."

I nearly laughed because he sounded so ridiculous. A few days ago we had been friends and now we were back to mere acquaintances in the school hallways. "O'Connal was right about you jocks," I found myself saying. "You're all the same."

Something inside Troy snapped, because he was suddenly glaring at me with such hate that I literally had to take a step backwards. "Well, I'm sorry we can't all be up to your O'Connal's standards! And _he's_ a fucking football player!"

"At least he doesn't lead innocent people on! Bait them until they're helpless and then leave them behind on the ground!"

Troy frowned, then ground out, "What the hell are you talking about, Gabriella? I bet you don't know a thing about O'Connal! Not a single thing!"

"I know enough, Troy!" I yelled.

"Oh, so now you go out with guys even if you know _nothing_ about them?"

I gasped, almost too hurt to reply, but then I shouted, "Are you calling me a _slut_?"

It looked as if Troy was almost going to backpedal. Maybe say he was sorry and things would go back to the way they were before. But his arrogant temper got the better of him. He glared straight at me and replied slowly, enunciating every syllable, "Maybe I am."

Instead of replying, I slammed his car door shut and stomped off and into my house. I can't believe he called me a slut. Well, at least now he might find me datable. After all, if I'm a slut than I'm no better than the likes of Shannon and Lindsay. I'm just kidding. I would never stoop so low. I just wish I didn't like him. I wish I liked with Terry Mantis instead. It would be MUCH easier to deal with Terry's rejection than Troy's obvious hatred for me.

Tuesday, October 6. My Bedroom, 7:14 PM.

First of all, I must have fallen asleep because when I originally woke up after my last entry it was almost six o'clock. I was tired, there were tear stains all down my face, and still depressed over Troy. It felt like a part of my life had disappeared. Suddenly everything I did in a regular day seemed to revolve around Troy. He drove me to and from school, I sometimes ate lunch with him, I tutored him, and we were partners in homeroom. Now all of that was for sure gone. Not only had I reverted back to the way I was before I started to tutor Troy, but now I was left upset. And that feeling really sucked.

I went downstairs to see my Mom home early. She said she was making dinner tonight, so I went back up to my bathroom to take a shower. Here's where things got interesting. After my completely self-loathing shower, I stepped into my room content on changing into sweats and going back to sleep. I was in the middle of pulling on a random sweatshirt over my tank top when someone knocked on my door.

"Don't come in!" I called, even though I thought it was my mom. I just didn't want to explain to her why I felt like crying uncontrollably. So then I added lamely, "I'm changing!"

"Is that comment supposed to keep me away?"

I froze, head halfway through the sweatshirt. It was a guy's voice, but it wasn't Troy's. It wasn't even Chad's. It was O'Connal's.

I groaned, pulling the sweatshirt fully over my head and pulling open my door slowly. "What do you want?" I asked miserably.

Devin didn't reply, he just pushed past me into my bedroom and sat on my bed. "Is that the way you speak to your date for Friday's dance?" he asked jokingly.

I screamed inwardly, but closed my door and asked, "Why are you here?"

He shrugged. "Called your house phone. Spoke to your mom. She's a nice lady, by the way."

"You still didn't say why."

Devin's eyebrow rose slightly. "Shouldn't _I_ be the one asking you 'why'? Because apparently I somehow got roped into escorting you to a dance I already had twelve offers for."

"Twelve offers for what?" I asked.

"Well, maybe not offers," Devin clarified. "More like twelve girls begging me to be their date."

"Oh."

"So what's the deal?" Devin asked again.

Going to the dance now seemed completely pointless after the fight Troy and I had just experienced. But I thought O'Connal deserved an answer after what he had done for me.

"Well, you already know I had a thing for Troy," I started.

"Have," Devin interrupted. "You have a thing for Bolton, not had."

"Had," I repeated, eyeing Devin slightly. "We had a fight earlier today after he dropped me off and said some rather . . . Hurtful things."

Devin grinned, shaking his head. "You know, for someone as smart as you are, you really have no sense in relationships, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's jealous, Montez," Devin said simply. "The guy's only trying to not come off as a wimp."

I sighed, finally walking over to sit next to him on my bed. "I don't care if he was jealous, O'Connal. The original point is that my friend Taylor told the entire basketball team that you were taking me to the dance to make Troy 'jealous'. I went to ask you for a favor earlier today, which was to pretend to escort me to the dance. You know what happens from there."

"Not exactly," Devin said. "What did you two fight about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied immediately.

"C'mon," Devin said. "You obviously don't hate him as much as you think you do, considering you're wearing his sweatshirt right now."

I looked down immediately to see Troy's basketball sweatshirt. I almost swore. Almost. Instead I ripped the sweatshirt from my head and threw it across the room.

Devin looked away jerkily, biting the tip of his thumb as he stared at the wall. "Uh, Montez?" he forced out awkwardly.

I glanced down and realized I wasn't wearing a bra, but rather a very thin tank top. I was so distraught I didn't even blush, but simply stomped across the room to my closet and tugged out an old _Roxy_ jacket. Slipping it on, I turned and dug out Troy's _Nike_ jacket and tossed it over to where the sweatshirt lay.

"Bolton sure has given you half his wardrobe," Devin said, watching me as I gathered both clothing garments and stuffed them into my trashcan. "So I'm guessing Bolton _really _said something bad, huh?"

"He called me a slut," I replied, almost panting as I finally sat down on the ground, staring into the trashcan.

Devin snorted. "You? A slut? Why?"

"Because I know next to nothing about you. And I'm going to the dance with you."

Devin got up and crouched down beside me. Then he said, "I have three brothers, two older and one younger. My favorite color is blue. Most people think I'm stupid, but I'm in honor classes. Favorite movie is Wedding Crashers. And," he paused, biting his bottom lip. "I think Bolton is a complete idiot." He shrugged his shoulders. "Now you know me."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I settled for, "Thanks."

"Hey, its no problem. The next question is, what do _you_ want to do next?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "I thought I liked Troy, but that was before he called me a slut and outright ditched me. If he's going to act like that, maybe he isn't the person I thought he was."

"Montez," Devin sighed. "You have to trust me on this. I've known Troy Bolton since elementary school. If he even shows enough energy to talk to you, he must like you somewhat. But he shouted at you. You're golden. He's just angry he's giving up so much energy over a girl. He's been a man whore his entire life. Trust me. I'm _still_ a man whore. He doesn't want to loose his reputation, but he also doesn't want to loose you. So basically he's mad at himself for taking out his feelings on you."

"Wow," I said blankly. "Has anyone ever told you you're really good at analyzing people and making speeches? You'd make a great lawyer."

Devin stared at me weirdly.

"Okay, okay," I said, and retrieved the clothing items from the trashcan. "But this still doesn't mean I'm not going to be mad at him for calling me a slut."

"Technicalities, Montez," Devin said, standing up.

"Look," I started. "We're only going to go to the dance as friends, though, okay?"

"Yeah, if Bolton saw us kissing, his head would explode," Devin laughed. "But that doesn't mean we can't mess with him. I may want to help you on this, but I turned down twelve crying girls. At least let me have my fun with Bolton."

"Fine," I replied.

And that was basically it. I have a date for Friday's dance. I made a new friends. And Troy hates me. I'd say today has been pretty productive, no? I just hope everything turns out the way I want them to. The way my life has been going lately, it's like I'm in a bad soap opera. And we all know everyone in those always die. Chad could suddenly profess his undying love for me, or something. And then Troy would come out of the closet, say he was gay, and he and Terry Mantis would elope into the sunset.

Okay . . . I think I need to go downstairs and eat something. My head his spinning wildly and I think I'm going insane.

Tuesday, October 6. My Bedroom, 11:53 PM.

My life is now DEFINITLY a soap opera. Why, why, WHY?? I want to be on a romantic comedy, for goodness sake. What's so wrong with that? Is it too much to ask for? I want to star beside Patrick Dempsey!!

Tuesday, October 6. My Bedroom, 11:59 PM.

Wait, Patrick Dempsey is too old. He's like forty, now. I'm just going to say Robert Pattinson instead. I'd honestly rather be Bella Swan in _Twilight_ and have my hot boyfriend be a vampire than live the life I'm living right now.

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 12:02 PM.

Did I mention Rob's accent? How can your life be wrong when you have _that_? How can it??

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 12:27 PM.

I hate _him_.

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 12:14 PM.

Okay. I think I'm ready to talk about it, now. But it's only because I watched various Robert Pattinson videos on _Youtube_. What can I say? His accent calmed me. A little bit. So I'm just going to come out and say it: _He called. _My dad called. AGAIN.

I went downstairs to have some dinner and my mom said the reason she came home early was to let me know my dad wanted to talk to me. I didn't freak out as much as last time, though. Thankfully. Instead I just downright refused to call him back. But my mom kept pushing the subject.

"Gabi, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten," my mom had said lightly. After all, it was a rather touchy subject.

But of COURSE I hadn't forgotten. Who _would_?

"Mom," I said, exasperated. "It's my choice, isn't it? He left and you got custody. He didn't even fight. Why should there be any reason for me to have a desire to call him back?"

"Because he was your father."

PSHHH. My definition of a father is someone you love, someone who will always be there for you, and someone who you can trust. AKA: _Not_ my father. I somehow promised my mom I'd call him back tomorrow when I was in a better mood. Which is basically today, really. So now all I can do is dread the moment.

* * *

AN: Sorry for the bit of a wait, again! And I know this chapter was a tiny bit shorter than usual, but I had to stop it there for the next chapter to begin correctly. I really hope you understand how Gabi feels about Devin! I have a Devin, you see, and tried to make my feelings for him apparent in Gabriella. If you're confused, just ask in your review! Also, I hope you know why Troy's acting the way he is and that Devin's explanation was enough for you. Everything will become explained near the end, so stick with me! BTW: I couldn't help but insert the bit about Robert Pattinson. He's my new celebrity crush and it's been driving my boyfriend crazy, lol! If you haven't read the book _Twilight _by Stephenie Meyer, I highly suggest it because Rob is starring in the film version which comes out December 12. Also because the book is awesome. Anyway, please review and you'll get a preview for my next chapter! Cheers!

Crystalbluu


	18. Chapter 15

A/N: Hey, guys. SOOOOO sorry for the freaking long wait. First of all, my computer crashed and I lost all the files for this story that I had already finished, so it took me a while to get in the mood to re-do this chapter and some others. Also, I've been quite busy with trying to get my drivers permit and doing summer homework for AP classes next year. But, anyway, Hope you like this one!

* * *

Wednesday, October 7. Sidewalk, 7:45 AM.

I don't think I realized just how much I appreciated Troy's car rides to school until now. I already know I'm going to be completely late to Homeroom, too, as I'm only halfway there. Ugh. Maybe I'll be so late that by the time I get to school Homeroom will be over. Then I'll have at least one less class with Troy.

Whoa.

Call me crazy, but I think there's a car following me. Oh, my gosh. I'm going to turn left and cut through the park to the school. What the heck? Its still following me! Maybe I'm just freaking out. This whole Troy-thing has turned me bonkers. The car is probably just a normal person heading exactly the same way I am . . . And is now slowing down behind me.

Wait, the car actually looks sort of familiar. The window is rolling down . . . Okay, if this is an extreme rapist I want the list below to count as my late will:

1. My mo will receive all my books; I know she loves reading just as much as I do.

2. Chad will receive my secret stash of chocolate . . . if he can find it.

3. Taylor will receive--

COACH BOLTON?

No wonder the car looks familiar. I've ridden in it before. Uh, oh. He's calling my name. Great. This should be sufficiently awkward.

"Miss Montez?" he's asking. "I thought Troy usually takes you to school? He's been leaving earlier for school for the past week."

Who said parents know everything about their children? He obviously doesn't know that Troy called me a slut. _That_ would be a weird conversation.

__

"Oh, Mr. Bolton? I'm walking because your jerk of a son called me a slut. Goodbye."

. . . Yeah.

So I said, "Oh, um. I guess he's just busy."

Coach Bolton slowed to a stop beside me and made a motion for me to get into the car. "Get in, Miss Montez. School starts in ten minutes. I'd like to see you run the remanding few blocks in less than that time."

This is true. Knowing me I'd trip over a snail and fall down a rain gutter or something.

I hesitated slightly before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. My life would have been horrible if Troy was sitting in the back seat. Thankfully he was probably already at school, making out with Shannon.

"Erm, thanks," I muttered, fastening my seatbelt.

Coach Bolton started up the car once again, and we began to drive toward the school in silence. That is, until Coach Bolton asked, "Going to the dance Friday night?"

The word 'no' was so close to popping out of my mouth, I nearly choked after trying to swallow it back down. "Yes," I replied in a strangled voice.

"That's nice," Coach Bolton was saying. "I seem to recall Troy mentioning he was going as well. But then again, I'm not exactly sure."

A strange bubble of curiosity formed in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help myself from asking, "With his girlfriend?"

The school appeared over the horizon. I gripped my armrests tightly in anticipation for both Mr. Bolton's answer and jumping out of the car. However, just as Coach Bolton was opening his mouth to reply, a cell phone rang. He held up a finger to me before answering his phone.

I sighed, shaking my head. What do I care if Troy was going to the dance with Shannon? I shouldn't be caring at all. Not one bit!

Oh, we're finally here.

I waved goodbye to Mr. Bolton before hopping out of the car and onto the school parking lot. Unfortunately I seem to be right on time for Homeroom, thanks to Mr. Bolton's ride. I can't catch a break, can I?

Wednesday, October 7. Chemistry, 10:15 AM.

Homeroom was interesting. Troy and Shannon weren't even there, so I technically had nothing to worry about. Although, I could say I should be worrying about where they both are . . . Okay, maybe I don't.

I should just be focusing on pushing my seat as far away from Terry Mantis as possible. He seems to be drawing on some sort of old Valentine's Day card. I hope he gives it to Troy in front of the whole school at lunch.

Which, speaking of lunch, I won't be sitting with Troy today. Because he wasn't in homeroom, I was able to speak with Taylor and Sharpay about what happened yesterday. You know, with him calling me a slut. Their reactions were pretty funny, actually. At first Sharpay didn't believe me.

I think she said something like, "Are you sure he didn't tell you he wanted to kick O'Connal in the butt? Because _butt _and _slut_ rhyme, right?"

"No, Sharpay," Taylor had said, shaking her head. "How could you confuse those two?"

Well, you know what? Right now I DO want to kick someone in the butt. But it isn't O'Connal, it's Troy. Because he's being a butt.

"Heya, Montez."

I suppose it would only be a few minutes into Chemistry that O'Connal would ditch Taylor to come bother me. Even if we have a substitute today and are just sitting in our lab chairs.

Devin glanced over at Terry's conspicuous activities before shaking his head slightly and turning back to me. "So, decided what you're wearing to the dance, yet?"

No, actually. That little piece of information has slipped my mind thanks to all the drama concerning Troy. . . And my dad.

"No," I sighed. "Why, does it really matter?"

O'Connal laughed. "I get the feeling you don't go to school dances very often. I have to know what color dress you're wearing so we can match."

"Match?" I asked offhandedly. "Why on earth would you want to match?"

Seriously. I know I'm a geek and all, but I don't see myself posing as the peppy country club couple wearing matching sweater vests and holding tennis rackets. Any sort of matching in my opinion is too over the top for me.

Devin shrugged, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently before saying, "I dunno, its probably one of your secret girl rules."

"I don't have a copy of the rulebook," I replied sourly.

"Thankfully," Devin muttered. "Look, just find something . . . I don't know, what's your favorite color?"

I couldn't help but think of Troy's eyes as I blurted out, "Blue."

"Well, okay, then," Devin said, crossing his arms and sitting on the table in front of me. "I'll throw on a blue tie and all you have to do is wear a blue dress."

I laughed slightly at the simplicity of being a guy. All Devin had to do was rent a tux. I was probably going to have to endure the wrath of Sharpay to find a simple, blue dress.

"What's so funny?" Devin asked.

"Nothing," I replied lightly. "Just . . . Nothing."

"Well, you know what _is _funny? Me having to go around declining all my date invitations today at lunch."

Now THAT is funny. Half the cheerleading squad gets to see Devin O'Connal going to the dance with geeky Gabriella Anne Montez. Maybe I _am _in a romantic comedy. Oh, wait. I still have to call my dad today. Never mind, it's horror film.

"You know what?" Devin suddenly asked, grinning in a way that made my stomach clench. "I figured out a way for you to repay me for lying to Bolton."

This can't be good.

"I thought you hate Troy," I reminded him.

Devin shrugged. "Well, you know. He's still going to bash my head in when he sees us at the dance."

Well, that's an interesting concept. Who would win in a situation like that, Devin O'Connal or Troy Bolton? Basketball verses Football, hmmmmmm.

"Fine," I finally said, crossing my arms as I waited for him to tell me what I had to do.

Devin grinned and grabbed Terry's Valentine's Day card. When Terry started to protest, all Devin had to do was shoot him a look. Ah, the quirks of popularity.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching as Devin started making a list of some kind.

Devin held up his hand to silence me as he continued to scribble something underneath Terry's love oaths to Troy. Within a few seconds Devin was finished, and he pushed the card toward me.

**__**

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

The sun shines upon me,

And so do you.

Happy Valentines Day!

Troy Alexander Bolton! I shall get you someday! You will realize your true love for me whether I have to shoot you, lock you into my car, and drive you down to the desert! I--

__

1. Sherry Bowman

2. Shannon Tremp

3. Laura Boss

4. Caitlyn Reese

5. Lindsay Fairies

6. Alyson Laurs

7. Kevin Turner

8. Kristen Muegee

9. Debora Kent

I stopped reading after the seventh name. Apparently Devin wants me to apologize to all his hopefuls for not being able to go to the dance with them. And one of them is a BOY! And Lindsay is on here! And SHANNON! Why would she ask O'Connal if she's basically Troy's girlfriend? I can't go up and talk to her! What if Troy is with her? That would be WAY too awkward.

"Oh, uh, hi, Troy. Shannon, Devin O'Connal wanted me to tell you that he can't go to the dance with you Friday even if you have a boyfriend who is standing right next to us. Sorry."

Uh, yeah . . .

"Devin," I said, pushing the card back towards him. "I can't do this."

He grinned, shoving the card back into my hands. "Look, Montez. Think of it as your way of getting back at all of your . . . Erm, well, people who you don't like."

"You mean the people who ignore me," I clarified.

Devin had the decency to look uncomfortable before he said, "Well, yeah."

"But Troy's girlfriend is on here!" I protested.

Devin's eyes widened, and he let out a short, bark-like laugh. "What? Are you fucking serious? Which one?"

"Shannon."

Uh, oh. O'Connal just choked on his own saliva which is NOT something someone as popular and good looking as he is should do.

"Shannon Tremp, Shannon?" He asked.

"Yes," I replied, staring at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Devin took a breath as if he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth. "I didn't think Bolton was dating _this_ Shannon."

I paused, trying but failing to read his guarded expression. "What are you saying?" I asked cautiously.

"How long has Bolton been dating Tremp?" he finally asked.

"I don't know, why?"

"Were they together . . . Say, three days ago?"

This isn't looking too good.

"Yes . . ."

"Shit."

Wednesday, October 7. History, 11:17 AM.

SHE IS SUCH A SLUT! And, okay. Troy isn't exactly the king of being pure and innocent. But, still. He at least openly tells the girls that he isn't exclusively seeing them! Unlike Shannon who acts all perfect. I mean . . . I am just SPEECHLESS!

And Troy is sitting two seats ahead of me not knowing the truth. And, yeah, O'Connal wouldn't exactly tell just _what_ Shannon and he did three days ago, but the fact that he told me the information would, 'make my teeth grow' is good enough to say they weren't just kissing.

And worse, Troy and Shannon were gone earlier today! What if they did . . . You know, IT! Right after she probably did it with O'Connal! Gosh, I hope that slut gets pregnant! That would be AWESOME!

Oh, wait. But then it would have to be either Troy's or O'Connal's child. Neither of which work for me, so never mind. But, wait. She's probably doing it with a whole bunch of other guys that I don't even know about.

Ugh, am I supposed to TELL Troy? Or even better, would he even care? Maybe I should just . . . Text him. If he's a jerk than I won't say anything but if he apologizes, I'll tell him. Okay. Here we go . . .

__

Troy-- There's something I think you should know. --Gabriella.

There, that looks fine, right? I didn't call him Troysie, which is good. Oh, he replied, hang on.

__

What do you want, Elle?

Well, he called me Elle, at least. It's a step up from calling me a slut. I don't know, he was still really rude. But I guess . . . I should tell him.

__

Troy-- It's about Shannon. She slept with --

Oh, my gosh. He just turned his phone off. You know what? He can deal with it himself. I don't even care anymore.

__

Industrial Revolution Notes

__

Medicine and pasteurization helped prevent people from dying (although Shannon will most likely die of herpes).

Machines and factories helped create more product in less time (although in Shannon's case, LESS is MORE).

Overpopulation became a huge problem during this time (And half the kids are from Shannon).

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 4:10 PM.

Today has been sufficiently exhausting. For one, at lunch Sharpay mentioned that we would be going shopping today at 4:30 in the mall for my dress. She and Taylor already have theirs, considering they've had dates ever since we first received the dance papers. So that should be interesting.

On the other hand, I successfully avoided Troy the entire day. However, I have a bad feeling that Coach Bolton is going to say something to him about giving me a ride to school today. I don't even know how that's going to work out. Because how can I face him knowing Shannon has been cheating on him with my date to the dance? And, quite possibly, other guys as well.

At least I didn't have to go around apologizing to O'Connal's dates like he wanted me to. We both decided that wouldn't be a good idea considering . . . Well, you know. I think he was fine with it, too, because it sort of adds to his whole 'I don't care what you think, I'm a bad boy' appearance.

Anyway, I'd better start getting ready to go to the mall. I think Sharpay and Taylor are going to be here to pick me up in like, five minutes.

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 4:17 PM.

Okay, wait.

I was just wondering what one wears to a 'Back to School Dance' in the beginning of October. The Dance Committee may as well have made it a Halloween dance. At least then I could have thrown on a pair of basketball shorts, grabbed a basketball, teased my hair into an afro, and said I was Chad. How easy would that be?

But, no. The dance _had_ to be a formal occasion. Now I have to wear a frilly dress and pin my hair back. I have to _actually_ let Sharpay help me this time. No more just straightening my hair. This time Sharpay's dragging me shopping and she's bringing handcuffs with her. That cuts out hiding in the food court.

And what if I don't find a good blue dress? What happens if the only dress that fits me happens to be bright yellow or something? What am I supposed to tell O'Connal?

Wednesday, October 7. Some dressing room, unknown time.

Yes, that's right. Unknown time. I can't even find my cell phone under this huge pile of dresses. I don't even know how long I've been in here trying on all these dresses. And I'm kind of freaking out right now because so far, out of the millions of dresses I've tried on, not one of them seems to fit me properly.

This one will be too big in the bust, this one will be too tight around my butt . . . I swear, trying on dresses is really a horrible way to feel good about yourself. I don't know why Sharpay likes to shop so much when your ego is torn down. Or maybe it's just MY ego. Or my stupid, incompetent body.

"Sharpay!" I yelled, throwing down yet ANOTHER dress into the 'no' pile of blue dresses. "This is hopeless."

"No, it's not, Gabs!" Taylor's voice sounded from somewhere in the store. "Stay confident!"

It's hard to stay confident when you're standing in a changing stall wearing only your underwear with good looking clerks walking around right outside your door.

"Here's another one," Sharpay suddenly said, startling me as she placed a blue piece of fabric over the top of the door.

Ew. This has got to be the ugliest dress I have ever seen. Ever. It's this tacky, dark, shinny blue with a low-cut neckline and beading around the bodice. I'm just going to pretend this one doesn't fit, either.

Uh, oh. My phone is ringing. Where is it? AH!

Oh, it's just my mom. She left a voicemail:

__

Gabi, honey, it's Mom. Remember our promise? It's seven o'clock and you need to come home so you can call your father. I love you! Be careful coming home!

I completely forgot I still have to call my dad. I really HATE today.

Wednesday, October 7. My Bedroom, 9:52 PM.

Okay. So not only did I NOT find a suitable dress for the dance Friday, but I ALSO found out my dad is getting married. YES, _married_.

When I got home, my mom almost shoved the phone in my hand and pushed me into a kitchen chair so I could call him. She passed me the number on a slip of paper that I _really_ wanted to 'accidentally' rip into pieces and I dialed. And waited . . .

And nearly threw the phone across the room. Because my dad isn't just getting married, oh, no. He wants me to be IN the wedding and wants me to MEET his fiancée. And because I've waited so long to call him back, I get to have lunch with the happy couple TOMORROW.

I can just bet that the stupid lady is going to be a dumb, young blonde who acts like Lindsay or Shannon. And at least _they_ have the taste to not go out with a guy who abandons his daughter and then calls back nearly eight years later.

I tried to tell my mom that I refused to see him again, but she talked me into it, pulling the whole 'He was your father and I _loved _him at one point. Do it for _me, _Gabi.' I said I would meet him tomorrow. A huge factor in agreeing to that is because then I'd be able to miss school. And Troy. But I'll have to think on the wedding. Even if I already know my answer: NO.

* * *

A/N: So, yeah. The plot thickens. And I know the whole thing with gabi's dad getting married is cliched, but trust me, the way i'm doing it, it won't be. The next chapter will be REALLY interesting. Even better, it's already almost done! Yay! That means you guys won't have to wait so long! But I'm going on vacation and won't be back until next Monday, so I won't be able to update it this Saturday. I'll try and get it up as soon as I can, though. Please review, and I'll PM you a preview to the next chapter!


	19. Chapter 16

A/N: Hey, guys! Get ready for this one, because it's going to be a bridging for a BUNCH of stuff you will never expect. Happy reading!

* * *

Thursday, October 8, 2007. My Bedroom, 7:16 AM.

You'd think that because I have to see my dad and his fiancée today, the least I can do is be able to sleep in. I mean, I haven't exactly been getting very much sleep lately with all my awesome problems. But, no. My phone rang three times and now I'm definitely not going to be able to fall back asleep.

__

Gabi-

Where are you? You never miss school, is something wrong?

-Taylor

Yes, something is horribly, terribly wrong, Tay. Oh, and there's one from Sharpay . . .

__

Gabs-

Where are you? There's this strange rumor going around that I think you'll want to know about.

--Sharpay

Actually, I don't think I really care. I'm done with reputations and trying to be popular. Look where it's gotten me so far! Still, when I got _this_ message, I knew something had to be up:

__

Gabriella-

We need to talk.

-Troy

What is _that_ all about, huh? I try and help him, he's been ignoring me lately, and now he wants to talk? And it wasn't even a nice message or anything. No use of his nickname for me, just one sentence without a 'please'. He has some serious mental issues if he actually thinks I'm going to respond to such rude text.

I will, however, respond to Sharpay and Taylor's. They were at least polite.

__

Tay-

I have to do something today, don't worry about it. I'll tell you later, okay?

-Gabi

I added the 'tell you later, okay?' part because the first section sounded almost as rude as Troy's message. But, still, what am I supposed to say? If I tell her about my dad, she'll freak and want to be with me. And I want to deal with my dad on my own, you know?

__

Shar-

It's okay, you don't have to tell me the rumor. And I have something I have to do today.

-Gabi

See? I handled those both perfectly well. But, really, _should_ I respond to Troy's message? Like, honestly, would any good come from it? What if I just said, "Troy, you're a jerk. I hate you but love you at the same time."

Wait, _love_ him? Oh, no, no, no, no, no, NO!

I do NOT love Troy Alexander Bolton. That would be . . . Borderline hideous! I can't love him, I just can't!

. . . But do I?

Thursday, October 8, 2007. Still my bedroom, 8:28 AM.

I don't love him. Seriously. How can you love someone after knowing him for like, a week? And maybe I've known him since high school started, but I didn't _know him_, know him. Does that make any sense? I'm going crazy, I swear.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. My bedroom, 9:01 AM.

__

Gabriella-

PLEASE talk to me? This is important.

-Troy

What is his deal? He was the one who ended things so abruptly in the first place! Why does he suddenly want to talk to me so badly?

__

Troy-

You turned off your phone when I wanted to tell

you

_something._

There. Maybe he'll stop bugging me now.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. My bedroom, 10:12 AM.

Well, my mom just came in and told me I had to get ready for my short trip to see my dad. He's staying at a hotel up in Albuquerque city, so I'm going to meet him and his fiancée in the hotel restaurant. I have to wear a something nice, too, so this should be interesting.

I think I'm just going to throw on a pair of jeans and a random top because honestly, I don't really care what my father or his fiancée think of me. It's their chance to make me accept them, not the other way around.

Ugh, what the heck?! Why is everyone texting me today? What, the world ends when Gabriella Montez doesn't make it to school? I mean, the last time I missed school it was literally with Troy right beside me. You'd think East High would collapse if _he_ didn't make it.

__

Gabriella--

Hey, it's Devin. Sorry, I borrowed you number from Taylor in Chem. Hope you don't mind. Um, there's something going on at school today. Revolving around you. And me, technically. So just call me when you can, I guess.

--Devin

I'd almost be curious about what everyone's talking about if I wasn't so anxious about seeing my dad again. I'm just going to turn my phone off until after this whole meeting is over. _Then_ I'll see what the heck everyone is ranting about. After all, what could be so bad? Everything terrible has already happened to me.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. My bedroom, 10:34 AM.

It just dawned on me that I still don't have a dress for tomorrow. What is wrong with me? Can't anything go my way just for ONCE in my life?

Thursday, October 8, 2007. In a taxi, 11:07 AM.

Well, I'm on my way to the hotel right now. In a taxi, none the less. I wasn't even aware that we had taxis in Albuquerque. I thought they were only in big cities like New York and Chicago and stuff. But all my mom had to do was flip through the _Yellow Pages_, call the number, and BAM! I'm stuck in the backseat of a hideously yellow cab that reeks of cigarette smoke for the next hour.

I wish my mom didn't have to work today. Actually, I could have sworn she doesn't have any business appointments today at all. She could have totally come with me on this death trip. I think she just doesn't want to see my dad again. It probably brings back too many painful memories or something. Maybe if she actually knew me, she'd know that I feel the exact same way.

Ugh, the driver just burped. At now it smells faintly of beer. Maybe I could sue my dad when we crash for making me drive in a car with someone who's drunk. I could milk all the money out of him and see how _he_ likes it. But I suppose I would only be able to sue the cab company. Such a jurisdiction probably wouldn't go through properly.

But what am I supposed to do when we're all sitting at the table eating lunch? I don't think I'll be able to act all chummy like nothing was ever wrong. I'm not exactly the best actress.

And what will his fiancée look like? I think I recall my mom saying her name was Chastity. I mean, really. What kind of name is that? I highly doubt she actually lives up to her name. It'd be rather ironic if she's a slut and her parents named her Chastity. Could you imagine what that would be like?

M: Poor mother who's been in labor for hours and hours only to be stuck with such a wretched child

D: Poor father who's been cursed with a wife who can only give him children like Lindsay and Shannon.

M: Oh, honey, isn't she just precious?

D: Yes, Dear. She has the most beautiful eyes.

M: But whatever shall we name her?

D: I know! My daughter will be the perfect, white angel of holiness. I bestow upon her the name of Chastity!

M: Shall she always be so pure!

And then Chastity loses her virginity at thirteen, runs off with some idiot, get pregnant, drinks until she loses the baby, and has a poor white trash life until she meets my idiot dad who's willing to take her in.

And knowing me this little story will turn out to be true. Because my life is cursed.

I can only imagine what kind of dress I'll be forced into wearing if I accept being in their wedding. Which isn't saying I will. But I can't even find a dress to wear for tomorrow's dance. Poor Chastity will hate me for ruining her otherwise perfect wedding by not fitting into her bridesmaid dress.

I am so bored right now. I didn't even bring my History text book to study for the test we have tomorrow. I bet even Troy will get a better grade on it then I will. Oh. Troy. I wonder if he ever replied to what I said to him. Maybe I'll turn my phone on . . . Just for a little peek.

__

Four missed calls.

Five new messages.

Okay, what is going on at East High? Was there a fire or something? What is so bad about this rumor that everyone is trying to tell me it when I _obviously_ have no interest in knowing what it is? I'm just going to read Troy's messages. And maybe Devin's. Because we're going to the dance tomorrow and all. He could be trying to tell me he wants to cancel.

__

Gabriella--

I know I turned my phone off and I know you're pissed at me. But this is really important. Give me a call

--Troy

Not happening until you apologize, Bolton.

__

Gabriella--

Do you really think it's effective to ignore me when I'm trying to help you?

--Troy

Is it wrong of me to feel a little curious, now? Even after I said before that I would never be?

__

Gabriella--

Hey, Devin again. Listen, I wagered from some people that you weren't talking to them, but I really think you should. I'm just going to say I'm sorry. And that you and I both know the truth, so it doesn't matter.

--Devin

And now I'm just plain confused. What the heck does he mean? What the heck do Troy, Sharpay, and Taylor want? And why the heck are we slowing down?

Oh. We've stopped because we're here. At the restaurant. To see my dad who I haven't seen in eight years. And Chastity. Great.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. The hotel lobby, 12:14 PM.

I'm scared. What if I'm not what he thinks I'll be? Like, he'll look at me and be like, "Oh, what happened to you? You're worthless, get out of my face."

I can't handle being rejected by him more than once, you know? I'd have another breakdown . . . Maybe even worse then the one I had when he first called me on the phone.

I'll just take this one step at a time. You know, slowly.

I can do this. All I have to do is walk around the corner, find my dad, and sit down with him and his fiancée. I'm cool. This is going to be a piece of cake.

Okay, I see the back of my dad's head. The lady next to him is turning around, and- OH, MY GOSH, MS. DARBUS? That can NOT be my dad. It just . . . Can't. This is so wrong on so many levels. Ms. Darbus bought _condoms_ for one, and well . . . She's just . . . Ms. Darbus?!

Oh, wait. That's my dad over there. Thank you, sweet, dear Lord for FINALLY deciding to take my side. But, then again, who is Ms. Darbus's mystery person?

Come on, Mr. Mysterious Guy who's been using flavored condoms with Ms. Darbus. Ew. That sentence was all from Troy's influence. Turn around, please. Just turn your head . . . Oh, it's just some random guy. I've never seen him before. Ever.

But this is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Where's my cell phone? Okay, select camera . . . Turn around again! Ugh! Stop stuffing your face with spaghetti and turn around!

There! Haha! I GOT it! A picture of Ms. Darbus and her mysterious 'family emergency'. What, she's only missed like, a week and a half of school for the guy. What's so great about him?

Uh, oh. I think my dad sees me. Yup. It should be interesting trying to explain why I'm hiding behind a chair snapping pictures of people on my cell phone. As if things couldn't get any worse.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. Troy's car, 2:46 PM.

And I thought things couldn't get any worse.

Let's just start with the whole meeting my dad and Chastity thing. My dad was just like, "Gabriella? Is that you?"

This caused Ms. Darbus and her date to turn towards my direction where I was standing up from hiding behind the dining chair. I just smiled, trying to act innocent as I walked over to my dad's table. I even said hello to Ms. Darbus, but it was so quiet I doubt she even heard me.

Chastity is not far off from what I thought she'd look like. She has that whole suburban house wife thing going with her manicured nails and highlighted blonde hair. She was wearing this stylish cocktail dress and her engagement ring was seriously big enough to dwarf a standard sized strawberry. I guess business for my dad is going . . . Well.

"Um, hi," I said awkwardly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I turned to Chastity and held out a hand, dumbly saying, "I'm Gabriella."

Of _course_ she knew I was Gabriella. The whole restaurant knew who I was after my dad had shouted my name across four tables.

Chastity shook my hand, showing teeth that had obviously been laser whitened as she said, "Oh, I've just heard so much about you! I'm Chastity."

I wish I could say the same. I didn't even know she existed until, like, yesterday.

"That's nice." I turned to my dad. He had changed considerably since the last time I had seen him. Just normal aging, I suppose. "Hi."

My dad smiled. Smiled as if nothing has happened for the past few years. Like he hadn't ditched me without a fight, left for eight years without sending so much as a birthday card to me.

"You look gorgeous, Gabi," he started. "Just like your mother."

"Don't call me Gabi," I said stiffly, watching as his fingers played with Chastity's hand. "Only my friends call me Gabi."

My dad looked baffled. "But I've always called you Gabi."

I shrugged, then pulled the menu up in front of my face like a barrier between us. I wasn't even reading the items. They seemed like they were written in Chinese to me.

"So," Chastity said brightly. "I'm sure you've heard your father and I are getting married soon."

I set the menu down and reached across the table for a piece of bread. My stomach had suddenly churned uncomfortably.

"The subject might have come up," I replied, peeling the warm roll apart.

My father and Chastity looked at each other. It was almost as if they were sharing some sort of mind connection, like they were gossiping about me.

"Well, Gabriella," my dad said, putting too much emphasis on the fact he had not used my nickname. "We would really love it if you would be a part of the wedding party."

"Oh," I said, not really knowing what else to say.

Because, what is a person supposed to say to that? They hadn't even bothered to ask how things were with me. How high school was, if I had a boyfriend or whatever. They just breezed right into asking if I would be in their wedding. And it wasn't even a question. It was more of an order, something I couldn't say no to.

At that moment, a waiter appeared at the tableside, sparing me from having to say anything else. I placed my order without knowing what was coming out of my mouth and went back to shredding my bread roll into pieces on the tablecloth.

"I've even put an order in for your bridesmaid dress," Chastity said excitedly, smiling at my dad with that secret glance again.

Like I was supposed to be happy about that. I didn't bother asking how she knew what size dress I would be. Heck, _I_ don't even know what size I am. It's not like anything was fitting correctly when I went dress shopping yesterday.

"Thanks," I replied softly, taking a sip of water.

"The wedding will be in a few weeks," my dad said casually. "Chastity and I were discussing a date that would work best for the kids. Because you're still in school, right?"

I nodded blandly, unconsciously letting my eyes wander behind my dad's head to spy on Ms. Darbus. My dad's comment didn't even register in my mind until a few seconds later.

"Wait, kids?" I asked incredulously. "As in plural?"

"Yes," my dad said, smiling happily at Chastity. "We have a two year-old together and Chastity has a twelve year-old from her previous marriage."

My jaw dropped and I wiped the bread crumbs off my hands. "You have a kid together?"

"Her name is Vera," Chastity said. "I'm sure you two will be wonderful sisters."

I was speechless. I'm not even kidding. I actually thought I had lost the ability to talk. But would you be able to say anything? My life had literally become that of the Mexican girl in _The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_. And I don't even LIKE that movie!

"Uh," I managed to force out. "Excuse me."

I threw my napkin down at the table, not even caring when it almost knocked over my water glass and sped from the dining hall. I stopped to lean against the wall in the hotel lobby, breathing heavily. Unfortunately I didn't have enough time to regroup my thoughts, for two minutes later my dad had showed up at my side.

"What was that?" he asked, almost angrily.

"What was what?" I fired back, turning around to face him.

"Why on earth were you so rude to Chastity? She didn't do anything to you."

I crossed my arms, almost laughing at his comment. "Didn't do anything to me? Dad, you know I feel weird about calling you that now, right? It doesn't feel right to call you 'dad' when you've missed eight years of my life!"

"What does that have to do with Chastity?"

I gaped at him, not believing what was coming out of his mouth.

"Everything!" I shouted. "How can you even live with yourself? I mean, fine, you divorce mom. I understand how two people can fall out of love. But what I don't understand is how you threw me out of your life! Just as if I were an old T-shirt you didn't want anymore!"

My dad stuttered, trying to come up with the correct words. He finally settled with, "I did want you."

My eyes were now starting to fill with tears and I brushed them away impatiently, mad at myself for showing any weakness. "No. No, you didn't want me. You left, found a new life to live. Found a new girl to have a kid with. And out of wedlock, I might add.

I mean, was there ever a time you stopped and thought, 'Hmm. What's going on with my first daughter, Gabriella? What's new with her?' And don't you try and say you did, because I have not heard one word out of you for the past eight years!"

"You reminded me too much of your mother!" My dad shouted at me, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, okay, Gabi? I'm sorry! I couldn't handle it!"

I nodded, biting my lip. "Well that's great, dad. Leave the eight year-old to handle it. Leave her to wonder what she did wrong. What she did that drove her dad away forever."

And then I turned on my heel, running out of the hotel even as my dad called my name. I could barely see through the tears that were falling down my face and people were staring at me like I was an idiot. But I did the only thing that popped into my empty mind.

I called Troy.

I'm still not even sure what happened when he picked his cell phone up. I think he even started to yell at me for ignoring him when he needed to talk to me, but he stopped when he realized I was sobbing hysterically. I told him I was in downtown Albuquerque, had no idea where I was, and asked for him to come pick me up.

The Troy that I knew came back at that moment, telling me urgently to stay where I was and that he was on his way to come get me. I sat down on a bench, watching people walk by and making sure none of them were my dad. Troy drove up in his car forty minutes later, making me now realize he had been speeding to make it there so quickly.

He got out of the car, face confused as I wordlessly buried my head into his shoulder, sobbing. We stood on the curb for who knows how long, him just cradling me while I ruined his jacket with tearstains. All I can really say is that it truly felt good to be in his arms again. It was the sort of protection my dad could no longer offer me. And for that, I was thankful to Troy.

So now I'm sitting here, in the passenger seat of Troy's car. We're on our way to his house where I'm sure he'll be asking for a much needed explanation. And you know something? I'm looking forward to telling him.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, so another emotional chapter leaving unanswered questions. You should know that this story is actually coming to an end, with only a few more chapters left to go. I'll try and update as soon as I can! And remember, leave a review and you'll get a preview for the next chapter! Cheers!

--Crystalbluu


	20. Chapter 17

A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys! But I wanted this chapter to be perfect because it brings together a lot of loose strings that you all think I've probably forgotten about. Muahahahah. But, good news is that I'm trying to draw this story out a little longer. You guys are so awesome, it's the least I can do. I mean, I got 92 reviews on the last chapter! It's what spurs me on, so keep it up and I'll try to make this longer. Happy reading!

* * *

Thursday, October 8, 2007. Troy's Living Room Couch, 3:12 PM

I've calmed down quite a bit since I've reached Troy's house. He hasn't tried talking to me just yet, but he's already called my mom on the phone and informed her that I was safe. I suppose my dad called her as soon as I ran away and then disappeared. Not that I really care, though. My dad is even more dead to me now then he was before. But Troy doesn't know anything about that . . . Yet.

He's in the in kitchen making me some soup or something. Luckily his parents are at some charity dinner for East High, so we're all by ourselves. With the maids, of course. But it's not like I can kick them out or anything. Especially when one of them gave me this really soft blanket that I'm sitting on at the moment. I have _got _to find out what material this blanket is made from!

Oh, Troy's back. But he isn't holding any soup. He's holding a container of fudge.

"So, I couldn't find any soup," he said lightly, setting the container of fudge down on the coffee table. "The only thing I'm good at is making are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, anyway. And that's not a comfort food, so we have this."

I nodded, starring at the container. It seemed so long ago that Troy and I were sharing a container of fudge in his kitchen after I had almost drowned. And here we were today, Troy looking at me expectantly, waiting for my explanation.

"Um, your mom said something about you meeting your dad today," Troy started slowly, cautiously. "Do you maybe want to talk about it?"

Weren't we just in a fight? He had called me a slut, after all. Can I just let that blow away like it never happened? One look into Troy's eyes told me I could. C'mon, have you _seen_ Troy Bolton's blue eyes? They're like, never ending pools of water. It should be illegal to have eyes like he does. Besides, I have to admit that I missed him.

"Do you remember that day in my room when I told you about my dad?" I asked softly, twisting the my blanket around my fingers. "I didn't exactly tell you everything."

Troy sat down on the squashy chair opposite me, watching intently. His expression was so comforting, so _safe_ that it was easy to continue. It actually felt nice to be able to let go of everything that had been crushing my chest for my entire life.

"I told you my mom and dad got a divorce and that my mom received full custody of me. What I didn't tell you was that he didn't even bother fighting for me." I sighed shakily, willing myself not to cry again. I was done with tears. My father didn't deserve them.

"What an asshole," Troy muttered, shaking his head slightly.

I couldn't help smiling. Troy was still the same person he had been before this whole . . . Ordeal. I could always count on him to make me laugh, even if he wasn't trying to make me giggle.

"For once I'm going to agree with you on that one," I said. "But it gets . . . Worse."

Troy clenched his teeth. I could see the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he didn't say anything. I continued.

"Remember when he called a while back?" I asked. "Well, he wanted to tell me he was getting married."

"Married?!" Troy exclaimed loudly. "What the hell, that's the first thing the guy says to you after not talking for eight years?"

I nodded, leaning forward to grab a spoonful of fudge. It tasted even better than the last time. "And he has a kid."

Troy launched himself forward and snatched a spoon, angrily scooping a large amount of the fudge into his mouth. "How the fuck are you so normal, Elle?" he asked through a mouthful of chocolate. "Look at how I am, and that was with _good_ parents."

He has a point. Troy without great parental guidance wouldn't end up well.

"I'm not normal," I argued. "Far from it."

He shrugged. "You should be murdering your dad right now," he stated. "I would already be hiding the murder weapon."

I shook my head, smiling in spite of the situation. "No, I would kill Chastity first. His fiancée."

"_Chastity_?" Troy asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your father's fiancée's name is Chastity? That's rather . . . Ironic."

Isn't it, though? I hope her hair turns orange the next time she dies it fake-blonde.

"Yeah, well," I said, sucking lightly on my spoon. "It's over and nothing can be changed. But thanks for . . . Thanks for coming to get me."

I looked him in the eye. After a few seconds, Troy looked away and pretended to brush imaginary crumbs off his chair. It seems we still have that awkwardness that came when we almost kissed. Not like that will ever happen again. _Ahem._

"I couldn't just leave you there," he mumbled. Then his tone changed as he asked, "But why did you call me? Why not Taylor or . . . Or even Sharpay."

I shrugged. We were nearing the point in our conversation where our past experiences could not be ignored. And it sucked. I wish we could just say, "Okay, you're sorry. I'm sorry. Let's move on." But this is Troy and I. It never works that way.

"Sharpay?" I asked warily. "Please, she would have been like, 'let's go shopping, Gabs'. And you know how much I hate shopping."

Troy's expression didn't change, so I suppose he wasn't paying attention to my feeble attempt of changing the subject. He simply moved forward in his chair, leaning his crossed arms against his knees. "Elle," Troy prompted.

Uh, oh. What do I do, lie? And what is he even asking for?

"What?" I asked innocently. "I called you because . . . Because you were the last person I had texted."

Troy let out a strange, almost strangled groan as he pushed himself back, leaning his head against the top of the chair. "What is your problem, Elle?" he snapped.

Okay, wait. _He's_ the one yelling at _me_? What's wrong with this situation, hmm?

"My problem?" I asked, shocked. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"That's your problem!" Troy exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with his hand. "Why the hell aren't you mad at me?"

I'm so confused.

"I was mad," I clarified softly. "Furious, actually. But I'm just . . . I'm not, anymore." I shrugged, not even sure why I wasn't angry. Perhaps it was just because it felt so good to be with Troy again.

Troy straightened, his hair sticking up from where it had been mussed by the chair. "Elle, I basically called you a whore."

Well _that_ is worse than a slut. Maybe I should be mad at him again . . . Decisions, decisions . . . .

"Did you mean it?" I asked, even when I already knew the answer.

"No," Troy replied simply. "What is wrong with us?" he asked, though his expression remained calm. "We're like a fucking rollercoaster."

I shrugged, still playing with the blanket. "Life _is_ a rollercoaster, Troy."

"Then maybe we should take that as a clue." Before I got a chance to ask him what he meant, Troy continued to say, "This might be a good time to mention what I was trying to tell you before."

Oh, my gosh. The rumor. Troy calling me a slut. Taylor, Sharpay, and Devin trying to say something to me . . . This can't be good.

"Let me guess," I said carefully. "The whole school thinks I'm a slut."

"Nope."

Maybe things are _finally _going my way.

"They think you've slept with me."

WHAT?! Where in the world did _that_ come from?

I visibly blanched, choking on my own words as I forced out, "Excuse me?"

Troy swallowed, shaking his head. "I tried to tell you."

"But . . . Why would people think that?" I asked, my voice shaking. "When Devin mentioned a rumor, I thought people were doing the same thing you did!"

By this I meant Troy thinking I was a slut for going to the dance with Devin. Luckily Troy didn't need me to clarify my statement.

Troy sighed, glancing down at his shoes. He appeared to be very uncomfortable. "Listen, Elle. This whole thing is kind of . . . My fault."

"_Your_ fault?" I suddenly shouted. "What, did you _tell_ people we slept together?"

"No!" Troy snapped, but his temper disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Shannon did."

And I thought I was confused before.

"You've lost me," I said blankly, clutching my blanket tightly. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be a cheerful little story time.

"Well, she had proof," Troy said.

"How can there be any proof?" I screeched. "We haven't _done_ anything!"

"She found your bra."

Oh. _My_. **_GOD_!**

How can this be happening to me? I mean, what have I done do deserve any of this? I'm a straight 'A' student. I listen to my mom. And, yeah, I ditched my dad, but other than that I'm a GOOD person!

"She also mentioned seeing a package of condoms in your backpack."

I knew my forgetting to take those out of my bag and throw them away was going to come back and bite me.

"But this is all a huge misunderstanding," I whispered, seeming to have lost my voice. "Why would Shannon want to do something like this?"

"Because I broke up with her."

Okay, I miss one day of school and somehow the world has turned upside down. How can so much happen in so little time?

I shook my head wordlessly. "I hate to say it, but I really am beyond confused, Troy."

"I guess you would be," Troy said. He cleared his throat. "Basically, I broke up with Shannon before Homeroom Wednesday. She got really pissed off, which was why we weren't in class."

Oh, that's right. Shannon and Troy were absent from Homeroom yesterday. I just assumed they were making out or something. But Troy was breaking up with her?

"That's why I was in an asshole mood when you texted me History," Troy explained. "I'm sorry that I was such a bastard."

So he wasn't mad at me specifically that day. He was just in a funk after breaking up with his girlfriend.

"Um," I started, not even sure what to say. "Why did you break up with Shannon?"

Troy opened his mouth, but then shook his head and closed it. "So, anyway, she showed up at my house after school that day, demanding that we got back together. I said I didn't want to, so she threw a fit . . . Literally, and started throwing stuff in my room, ripping things out of drawers."

Why the heck did Troy ever date Shannon? He really has serious issues with going out with stupid girls.

"So she was chucking socks at me when I guess she found your bra in my drawer," Troy said. For the first time in all that I have known him, Troy actually appeared to be . . . Blushing. But he started talking right away, again. "She knew it wasn't hers, and I stupidly said it was yours.

"Then she said something like, 'Well, I slept with Devin O'Connal, so it looks like we both cheated on each other!' And she said a bunch of other stuff, but I guess I've blocked it out. Next thing I know, today at school everyone seems to think you and I have slept together."

At first I was shocked at how little he cared that Shannon had slept with Devin. It was almost ironic that Devin was taking me to the dance.

"Didn't you tell her we didn't . . . sleep together?" I asked.

"Duh," he replied lamely. "But Shannon is a bitch when she wants to be, and she wouldn't listen."

When she wants to be? HA! When has Shannon ever stopped being a bitch?

"Well, this day sucks," I said stupidly. I mean, obviously today hasn't been a good day. But I guess I can't seem to have a good day anymore.

"Yeah," Troy said, running a hand through his hair. "Elle, I'm, uh, I'm really sorry."

I sighed. "It's fine, Troy. There isn't really anything you could have done."

Troy's expression told me he thought otherwise, but he didn't elaborate. Instead he picked up his spoon and shoved a heaping amount of fudge into his mouth, then offered the container to me. With a small smile, I accepted it.

"You're getting me fat the night before the big dance," I said thickly, licking my spoon. "I won't fit into my dress."

Troy laughed. "Like you ever care about what you eat."

"You're right," I replied. "It's not like I ever found a dress, anyway."

There was an awkward silence while Troy and I continued to scrape the container dry until Troy finally said, "So, you're going to the dance with O'Connal, huh?"

For once his voice sounded genuine. He wasn't mocking me like he had before. Troy actually sounded like he was just wondering. And maybe it was because of everything that has happened today. Maybe it was because I didn't feel like going to the dance with Devin, knowing he had full on slept with Shannon. For whatever reason, I looked up at Troy and honestly said, "No. I'm not going to the dance at all."

A broad grin broke out onto his face. He didn't try to hide it as he said, "Neither am I." He grabbed the container from me and stood, gathering our spoons. "They aren't that fun, anyway."

And he just walked away to the kitchen, leaving me to ponder what he'd said. Why was Troy _happy_ that I wasn't going to the dance with Devin? Maybe Sharpay and Taylor were right . . . He _was_ jealous.

Oh, crud.

This means I have to let O'Connal know that I'm not going to the dance with him. I'd better do that now, while Troy's in the kitchen.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. Troy's Family Room, 8:38 PM.

Well, Troy and I decided to have a movie marathon. He came back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and said he was in the mood for watching other people's problems. I couldn't agree more, considering we've barely got a good grip on our own.

But I was able to text O'Connal before Troy came back into the living room. I said something like:

__

Devin--

Thanks for reassuring me before. You've been a really great friend . . . Surprisingly. I hope you'll understand that I'm in no mood to go to the dance tomorrow. Is that okay?

--Gabriella

Of course Devin, being the flexible playboy that he is, was completely fine with my decision and thanked me for giving him a chance to find some new girls at the dance. Although he didn't call them 'girls'. He used a rather vulgar term that I refuse to repeat.

So Troy and I are watching _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ right now. We ordered some pizza about an hour ago, too. It's funny how much today is like the day I almost drowned. Arguing, fudge, pizza, my bra. Wait a minute. My bra!

"Hey, Troy?" I asked.

He looked away from the wide screen TV and over to where I was sitting. "Yeah?"

This is going to be awkward. "Um, what exactly happened to my bra?"

I can't exactly describe Troy's expression. It almost looked like a mix of embarrassment and something else, but he his it rather well. "I think it's somewhere in my room," he said. "Want me to, uh, get it for you?"

I paused, watching the screen for a few moments before saying, "It's okay, I'll get it before I leave."

We went back to watching the movie in silence, though I wasn't paying attention to the story. I'm far too busy with my _own_ life at the moment. Because I just realized something: A while back when I had wanted my bra, Troy said he couldn't find it. But now it was just oh-so-plainly in his drawer? Why didn't he give it back to me? And why did he break up with Shannon?

I glanced over at Troy expectantly as if he were suddenly going to turn around and answer all my questions. Of course he didn't. But this just ends up giving me more . . . Hope, I guess. Hope that perhaps Sharpay and Taylor have always been right. That Troy likes me on a certain level.

And if there's one thing I _do_ know about guys, it's that they're afraid of commitment. Just like Mr. Bolton said when he took me home the first time. Maybe it's my turn to take the reins, to lead Troy in the direction I want to head. I just have to decide where we're going first.

"Troy?" I asked again. "Since we're both not going to the dance tomorrow, do you want to do something?"

He turned to me with a half smile on his face that told me I had finally said the right thing. "Only if I get to choose what we're doing."

Okay, so I can't control Troy all that much. He still has an overwhelming amount of power over me. But if he didn't, I guess he wouldn't be Troy Bolton.

Thursday, October 8, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:05 PM.

So tonight has been . . . Interesting. Nothing huge has happened or anything. I mean, when I got home I was forced into explaining _everything_ to my mom. We worked it all out and hugged. She felt horrible for making me go to lunch today. But it's all in the past, now. Including what happened in Troy's car.

We were still watching the movie when I noticed how late it had gotten, and I said, "I should probably get home, now. We still have school tomorrow."

Ugh. School. An entire group of people who think Troy and I have slept together. Fun.

"Oh, yeah," Troy said distantly. He stretched, then slid of the couch and gave me a hand. I hesitantly accepted it and he pulled me up. "Almost feels like _today_ is Friday."

"I know," I said, following him as he grabbed his keys. "So much has happened today."

We walked outside to his car. I wondered vaguely if he was going to go back to driving me to school as I climbed into the passenger seat. I decided not to ask.

We began the short drive back to my house in which I began to dread seeing my mom. She was undoubtedly going to bombard me with questions on what had happened with my dad. Which she did. But Troy seemed to notice my discomfort, for he said, "Tomorrow at school, just . . . Just ignore people."

He thought I was worrying about what people were going to say tomorrow, when really, I don't care. They can say whatever they want to say, just as long as Troy and I both know the truth.

"I know," I said softly. "I'm thinking about my . . . Family problems."

"Oh."

We were silent as he pulled up into my driveway. The front light of my house was on, almost beckoning me forward.

"Thanks for the ride, Troy," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "I'll see you tomorrow at school."

I moved to open the door of his car when Troy suddenly said, "Elle."

I turned to him questioningly. He seemed to be fighting with himself before he unexpectedly leaned over and grazed his lips against my cheek. I sat there in absolute shock, not able to move properly. I know, I know. It wasn't a _real_ kiss. Just on the cheek. But it wasn't a simple peck, either. His lips sort of lingered and his hand brushed the back of my head. When he pulled away, he grinned and started the car ignition. Like there was nothing abnormal about what he had just done.

So, yeah. I'm sitting in my bed right now, letting that moment run through my head over and over again. Things are progressing, all right. Slowly but surely. And . . . CRUD! I forgot my bra at his house . . . Again.

* * *

A/N: So what'd you think? I hope you won't mind that Gabi's not going to the dance. But she's going on a sort of date with Troy! Wouldn't you rather have that? Please review and I'll send you a preview to the next chapter!


	21. Chapter 18

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've been busy with summer AP homework. Seriously, NOT looking forward to the new school year. I hope there's no mistakes, because I didn't get a chance to read through it. I'm leaving to go somewhere right now, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer! Okay, and thanks SOOOOOO much for all the reviews. You guys are amazing. Seriously. 108 reviews for one chapter? AHHHHH! I love you!

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Friday, October 9, 2007. My bedroom, 7:26 AM.

__

Elle--

Pick you up at 7:40.

Troy

What a wake up call, huh? I guess I won't have to walk to school today after all. Not that I ever really did, anyway. I didn't go to school yesterday, and the day before, Mr. Bolton picked me up. It's strange how that all works out.

But I'm a little nervous for school today. It's my first time with everyone thinking that I've slept with someone, you see. I don't even know why people would believe such a thing. I mean, I'm Gabriella Montez. School nerd. Girl who's never had a boyfriend. And then I'm suddenly the girl who's had sex with Troy Bolton, East High's superstar basketball player? Do you get how illogical that sounds? Although, I guess Shannon _did_ have some 'proof'. Even if nothing happened.

Oh, speaking of proof. I'd better finally take the package of condoms out of my backpack. Seriously, it's been in there for _days_. I feel like a guy. Except, guys put condoms in their wallets, right? I hope they know that by doing that, they can never be able to use the condom. My health teacher from ninth grade says small tears form in the latex. I wonder how many teenagers now have a baby because they used a condom that's been in a wallet for an extended period of time . . .

Okay, so where am I supposed to put them? The condoms, I mean. I can't just place them oh-so-casually in my bathroom cabinet. That'd be like asking my mom to join East High in thinking that I'm sexually active. But I can't put them in a drawer, either. What if my mom comes in here to put clothes away or something?

Someone just knocked on my door. Great, it's probably my mom. What do I do?!

AHH!!

Friday, October 9, 2007. Troy's car, 7:51 AM.

It wasn't my mom. But that still doesn't justify the fact that Troy randomly opened my door-- having been knocking for three minutes -- to see me standing in the middle of my room, holding a package of condoms. He burst out laughing while I quickly threw them behind my back, blushing profusely.

"Um, Elle?" he asked, striding into my room.

He stood in front of me, looking down at my head, for I was staring at my feet. Troy reached an arm behind my back, but I shifted my body weight, keeping the condoms out of his reach. He made another wild snatch with his other arm, but I still managed to keep the package away. Somehow, he ended up practically hugging me, he was so close, and with his head tucked over my shoulder, we were wrestling while we stood, he for the condoms and me for keeping them away from him.

And I really, really have to say that Troy smells amazing. Seriously, I thought his jacket and sweatshirt smelt good. The real thing is SO much better. I really think that was the closest Troy and I have ever been to each other. It wasn't even awkward, like you would think it would have been. It almost seemed . . . Natural.

"Troy, stop," I laughed, taking a step backward from him. It was no use, for he matched my step in unison, wrapping his arms around my sides as he finally pressed his hands over the box.

Troy moved his head back, looking me in the eye. He had a satisfied grin on his face and a playful glint in his impossibly blue eyes. "I can't believe it," he said.

"What?" I asked distantly. Because, c'mon. _Troy Bolton's_ face was mere inches from my own. _Troy Bolton_ was practically pressed up against me completely. _Troy Bolton_ had his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. And _Troy Bolton's_ hands were grazing my own, which were still clutching the condoms behind my back. I'm lucky I hadn't passed out yet.

"That innocent Gabriella Montez is holding a box of condoms," he clarified.

I closed my eyes as his hand moved purposefully until it was on top of my hand. "Are you forgetting who made me buy them in the first place?"

I opened my eyes to see Troy staring down at me. He had an odd expression on his face, one I've never seen before. I felt his slightly callused fingers brushing over the top of my hand. Our breathing had quickened without either of us noticing. And then . . . Well, this is the part that sucks. My phone rang, signaling that I had received a text message. Troy released me, somehow getting a hold of the package of condoms as I turned to check my phone.

It was a message that Troy had sent six minutes before, one that I should have gotten six minutes before if it wasn't for my bad service connection. But I guess I'm sort of glad Troy and I were interrupted. He sort of . . . Intimidates me at times. I mean, he's so experienced with girls and I'm . . . Well, me.

Oh, we're here. At school, I mean. Great. Now I can begin my day of being called a slut. Sounds like so much fun! Ahem.

"Elle," Troy just said to me. "If anyone does anything to you . . . Would you just come and tell me?

I didn't know Troy had a protective side. This is awfully new. Maybe because I gave him a hint that I kind of like him in _that_ way?"

"Um, sure," I said quietly. "But you know I probably won't."

Troy grinned, played absently with his keys. "I know, you're just stubborn that way. But, seriously. Just remember that you _can_ tell me. If you need to."

I smiled slightly, then turned to let myself out of his car.

Friday, October 9, 2007. Homeroom, 8:20 AM.

Sorry I was cut off at that moment. It would have been nice if I could mange to walk away from that conversation all confident and pretty, like people in the movies do. But I guess I can't even manage to do the walking part, let alone the looking pretty part.

That's right, a few steps from Troy's car and I had somehow managed to trip, dropping all my books to the ground. Troy was behind me within seconds, laughing in that way where it wasn't necessarily a teasing laugh, just laughing at how clumsy I am.

"Are you okay?" he asked between chuckles. He bent down to scoop up my books while I brushed dirt off of my jeans.

"Fine," I replied stiffly. "I do this practically every day, anyway, so . . ."

He started laughing again. Not knowing what else to do, I swerved and made a grab for my books. This time, it was Troy who was keeping something out of _my_ reach.

"Nuh uh, I don't want you tripping again," Troy informed me. He tucked my books safely under his arm and started walking toward the school entrance. "I don't know if the next time you trip in the parking lot, a car will come zooming along."

I hadn't thought about that. A parking lot filled with student drivers really isn't the best place to lose your footing, is it? What a horrible way to die . . .

__

Here Lies Gabriella Anne Montez.

1990-2007

May the rock that tripped her and the car that smashed into her always rest in hell.

Are people even allowed to have the word _hell_ on their tombstones? Would that just curse the person to live in hell for all eternity? Like, oh, look, it's the entrance to heaven! Then an angel tells you your stupid 'loved ones' carved the word _hell_ on your tombstone, so you aren't permitted to be in heaven anymore. Talk about having bad luck. Which I have, so this would probably happen to me.

Anyway, I don't know why, but for some reason people seemed to notice the fact that Troy was carrying my books for me. You'd think they would taunt me about being a slut or whatever, but as soon as they saw my textbooks and a smaller book, otherwise known as this diary, with the words _Gabriella Anne Montez_ scrawled across the cover, all thoughts about me sleeping with Troy were pushed from their minds.

At least, at the time, anyway. It may have bought me the courtesy of not being called names in the hallway, but people got their brains back around the time that I was taking my seat in homeroom. Just after Troy dumped my books onto my desk and said rather cheekily, "Don't let them fall off, now!"

As soon as Troy had taken his seat in front of me, a wadded up piece of paper hit me square in the back of my head.

__

What, sleeping with Troy isn't enough for you, Montez? You had to go and make him your slave ?

Obviously it was from Shannon. Sure, Lindsay could have written it, but I don't think she's exactly that literate. That and the fact that when I turned around in my seat, Shannon was glaring at me viciously. She couldn't have been more obvious if she were holding a blinking, pink neon colored sign over her head that read _I WROTE THE NOTE!_

I ripped the note to shreds just as Troy turned around in his seat. Apparently he had finished getting situated with his books and such. He placed an elbow on my desk, leaning his chin onto his hand lazily.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding his head toward the pile of demolished paper that was formally Shannon's hate note.

"I was just . . . Doodling on a piece of paper," I said slowly, coming up with my response as I said it.

Troy shrugged, lifting his head off his hand to run a hand through his shaggy hair. "So, I was thinking yesterday about what I want us to do tonight," he said casually.

I'm not going to lie. You know how in those romance books where the guy says something and the girl's heart like, jumps? I used to think that was just cheesy, fluffy writing. Until I felt my heart burst from my ribcage and fall to the floor. Okay, so it didn't leave my body. But it sure _felt_ like it did.

"What did you decide?" I asked, hoping he couldn't hear my heart pounding a million times a second.

"Well, first I thought we could go bowling, but then I remembered how clumsy you are," he said with a playful grin. "I think taking you bowling would be adding insult to injury."

"Literally." I could already imagine myself slipping mid-throw and following my ball down the lane, crashing into the pins. Hey, at least I would get a strike, right?

"So I thought of something else we could do that wouldn't be challenging your ability to stand on two feet," he teased. "But I'm not going to tell you what it is."

"Why?" I whined. "You can't do that, what if I was going to wear my dress for the dance and you took me to a McDonalds?"

"First of all, I would never take a girl to McDonalds unless we were both hungry and there was no In'N'Out in sight," Troy said lightly. "Second of all, you said you never bought a dress, remember?"

Well, I did tell him that yesterday. But, still, how was I going to know what to wear? Luckily Troy said he had that situation 'covered'. Whatever that means . . . I didn't get a chance to question him further, because Ms. Brown walked into the classroom to ramble on about the announcements. You know, the usual, "Throwing food in the cafeteria is not allowed, although some of you seem to think it is. The Back To School Dance is tonight, but remember that drinking is not permitted."

Blah, Blah, Blah . . .

She's still rambling on and on. I don't know why there's so much for her to say today. I would be perfectly happy with, "So, today is Friday! Yay!"

But, no. We have to listen to her talk about how someone made a freshman burst into random classes yesterday, wearing an afro and singing _Baby Got Back_. How I wasn't informed of this sooner, I don't know. Although I _do_ have an inkling on who made the freshman do that.

_Ahem, _Chad_, ahem._

Finally. I can't believe how long that took. Now we only have like, fifteen minutes of Homeroom left. Only fifteen minutes to study with Troy.

Friday, October 9, 2007. Chemistry, 10:12 AM.

Taylor will not stop hyperventilating over the fact that Troy's taking me somewhere tonight. When I told her the date wasn't even official, she started informing me of her older sister's 'dating rules'. Apparently rule number four is that, "All dates are official, whether the guy knows it or not."

And then I guess Terry overheard our conversation. We're supposed to be doing a lab right now, but Terry is kind of sitting in the corner, shooting me death glares. I swear, I would be dead at least one thousand times if looks could kill. Girls I don't even know have been glaring at me. It just goes to show how popular Troy Bolton is. _Every_ girl has wanted him at one time or another. It's probably in the East High Code Book. A girl has to be in love with Troy Alexander Bolton.

Then there's the looks I've been getting from guys. Looks that scare me because you can literally see the lust burning when they look at me. I guess because I've 'slept' with the school's main man, other guys see me as a girl who will put out. _Seniors_ have been looking at me all weirdly too. It's all just very emotional.

"Need some help?"

Devin's just come over from his and Taylor's lab table. Apparently she wants to do this particular lab herself, so Devin has nothing to do.

"I have a perfectly good partner," I said sarcastically.

We both turned to look at Terry who, scarily enough, was fingering a rather sharp math compass.

"That is, until he stabs you with that thing," Devin said, pulling up a stool next to mine. "So I hear you're officially on the _list_, now."

"What list?" I asked, measuring some copper wire for the lab.

Devin handed me a pair of scissors so I could cut the wire, then said, "The list of girls that allow guys to sleep with them."

I pointed the scissors menacingly at him. "You know that's not true."

Devin grinned, placing his fingers on the blade of the scissors to turn them away from his chest. "I know, but it's hilarious watching Bolton's reaction to the guys who _don't_ know it's a false accusation."

I retracted the scissors from Devin to snip the wire. "What do you mean?"

"Bolton and I have second period together," he clarified. "And this dude was talking to another guy about how you were, you know, on the list."

"What does that have to do with Troy?"

"The fact that he looked like he wanted to rip both of the guys' heads off."

What is up with Troy today? He's being all overprotective and . . . And jealous, even. Is this a sign that one of my plans is actually working? Because it's obvious that my _How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days _plan never worked out.

"So you and Bolton," Devin mentioned playfully. "Tonight, eh?"

"We're just going somewhere as friends," I argued.

"Gabs, friends don't take friends out on surprise dates," Devin said, like I was supposed to be experienced with this sort of thing.

"How'd you know it was a surprise?" We both looked over at Taylor who as scribbling furiously on her lab worksheet. "Never mind," I added knowingly.

"Just make sure you don't mess this one up, okay?" Devin said, crossing his arms. "I don't know how much damage control I can take care of."

"What would I mess up?" I asked, measuring out some water in a test-tube.

Devin took the water form me and poured into the graduated cylinder where a chemical reaction caused the contents to fizz. "Important . . . Actions."

What is it with all the guys in my life being so skeptical? And guys think girls are hard to read? Psh, yeah right.

Friday, October 9, 2007. Lunch, 12:17 PM.

History today with Lindsay was interesting. But only because she didn't do anything. Like, she didn't even glare at me like the rest of the girl population. It was almost as if she were a normal person. And then when I asked the teacher if I could use the restroom, when I came out of the stall, Lindsay was leaning against the sinks. Waiting for _me_.

And here's the weird part: she wasn't there to yell at me like she has done in the past. No, she was there to _congratulate_ me.

She was like, "Hello, Isabella."

She still doesn't know my name. but then again, I'm not even sure if Chad does, so . . .

"Um, hi, Lindsay," I muttered politely, moving to the sinks to wash my hands.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm erm, glad Troy isn't with Shannon anymore," she said awkwardly, fluffing her blonde hair.

"Troy broke up with her all on his own," I told her.

"You don't think you had some sort of influence?" she asked me.

I know. I was shocked too. Lindsay using the word _influence_? What is happening in this world?

"We were in a fight, Lindsay," I said, drying my hands with a paper towel. "We weren't even talking."

"Look, I may not be good at like, English and Math," Lindsay began .

That's the understatement of the century.

"But I'm good at the important things, like hair and nails and knowing when a guy likes a girl."

Hair and nails? Important things?

"And Troy has always liked you, Isabella," Lindsay finished. "Even when he probably didn't know he did."

"And you're okay with that?" I asked cautiously. I mean, come on. This is the girl that made a fake website saying that I was Troy's stalker.

"I think you're better than Shannon," Lindsay clarified. "And I think we both know Troy will never take me back, so I just have to move on."

"That's . . . Really mature of you," I said, shocked.

Lindsay pulled out a lipstick from her purse and turned to the mirror. "Yeah, well, this senior on the soccer team asked me out yesterday, so I may as well go along with it."

I stood there, watching her re-apply her pink lipstick. She was actually being reasonable for once.

"But I'd watch out for Shannon," Lindsay advised. "She's really out to get you."

No kidding. A couple minutes ago, when I was walking to the cafeteria, Shannon practically barreled into me. Luckily I didn't fall to the floor, but I stumbled into a group of freshman. I think I scared them. Oh, well.

So now I'm sitting at a table with Taylor, Chad, Sharpay, Zeke, Kelsi, Jason, Martha, and even Ryan. He just got back from his audition thing and is excitedly discussing it with Martha. I think they may be going to the dance tonight.

Oh, Troy's back from the cafeteria line. I don't know how he stays so thin with all the stuff he eats. He's holding a tray that's loaded with two cheeseburgers, chili fries, a package of _Lays_, four chocolate-chip cookies, a pudding cup, an orange _Gatorade_, an apple juice, and a diet coke. But, then again, all the guys at this table have trays similar to Troy's. Must be the basketball player metabolism.

And now he's sitting next to me and my usual bagged lunch, tossing one of the cookies to Sharpay. "Here," he said, ripping open the bag of _Lays_.

"Thanks!" Sharpay exclaimed, sitting back into her seat with the treat. She sent Zeke a fake glare. "I wouldn't have to be eating a school cookie if _someone_ brought me his homemade cookies."

Zeke smiled apologetically at his girlfriend. "Sorry, Shar, I left them on the table this morning."

What the? Oh. Troy just placed the diet coke on top of this diary. I looked over at him, but he was acting as if it were no big deal. Like he did it every day or something. And, okay. It left a large, wet ring on the next page of this diary, but the action was rather . . . Sweet. Troy Bolton is being sweet. To ME!

I have to go, now. Besides the fact that I can't write on the next page while it's wet, I have a feeling another food fight will break out. I don't think this diary can handle much more.

Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:37 PM.

Today wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. On the contrary, today was a really, really nice day. Troy is acting different, but a _good_ different for once. Devin has no hard feelings about me ditching him for Troy. Lindsay actually acted normal. And I sat at a lunch table with some really great friends. Some of them even _guys_. It may not seem like much, but a couple weeks ago, I was a nerd sitting at a table with the Scholastic Decathlon team.

The only thing that dampened my day were the angry, glaring people, but I can handle it. So far Shannon hasn't done anything stupid, either. I just have to be on the lookout.

Wait. Actually, the glaring people aren't the only thing that's bothering me right now. What the heck am I supposed to do about my . . . Date. With Troy. Tonight. Sure, he drove me home after his basketball practice, but we just talked about how I saw Ms. Darbus at the restaurant yesterday. We both agreed to try to find out who the guy she was with is. It's our project.

He _did_ say he was picking me up at seven tonight, but he mentioned nothing along the lines of what we are to be doing. What if I wear jeans and a T-shirt and he takes me to the beach? I have no idea what to do . . .

Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:42 PM.

Do you think just a simple pair of shorts and a dressy shirt will suffice? It's got both casual and fancy-ness in there.

RIGHT?!

Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:47 PM.

I am so beyond bad at this.

Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 6:58 PM.

You know you have good friends when they come over to your house, completely disregarding the fact that the dance is tonight. And I have Sharpay and Taylor. I didn't even expect them to come, they just showed up -- already in their dresses -- and pushed me into my bathroom.

"Sharpay," I gasped as she tugged at my tangled hair. "It's not even an official date."

Taylor shushed me by rubbing some substance onto my cheeks. "Gabs, any time you're alone with Troy Bolton it's a date. Especially since this time you can't just say you're tutoring him."

She had a point.

But seriously, I think I understand what Troy meant when he said he had everything 'under control'. He probably told Sharpay and Taylor what he was planning and made them dress me and slather makeup on me.

Seriously. I have never looked more like a girl than I do now. But I still look like myself, I guess. In a way. I mean, the last time they 'made me over', it was over the top. This time I feel comfortable.

I'm wearing a pair of jeans that are tighter than how I usually wear them. They're called skinny jeans or something. And Sharpay made me put on this tight, white lacy shirt that ends just past the button of my jeans. Over that, I have this blue plaid vest-thing that has a bow that ties at the bottom in the back. For shoes, I'm wearing a pair of black ballet flats that are surprisingly very comfortable.

My hair . . . Well, my hair took a LONG time. First they straightened it, which hurt. But then they curled the ends, making my hair look shinny and slightly wavy. I actually like it. Sure, I could have done without them poking me in the eye with the mascara. I think the makeup is the only thing I'm not exactly comfortable with. It's quite dark, with black eyeliner and gold eye shadow. But as Sharpay and Taylor said, it really makes my eyes 'pop'.

All in all, I actually look . . . _Good_. I look like someone Troy Bolton would date. I look _pretty_. Well, Sharpay and Taylor used the word _hot_, but I wouldn't exactly go that far.

So now I'm waiting for Troy to get here. It's almost seven o'clock, so it should only be a few more minutes.

Oh, my gosh. I'm nervous.

A/N: So what'd you think? Sorry that the 'date' wasn't in this chapter. The entire next one is about the date, so look forward to it! And if you review, you get a preview of it! Cheers!

--crystalbluu


	22. Chapter 19

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! School started and I have the craziest schedule EVER! Seriously, three AP classes and two honors classes PLUS I have to study for SATS. Just bare with me, okay? Enjoy the chapter!

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Friday, October 9, 2007. Woman's Bathroom of Fancy Restaurant, 8:16 PM.

I'm not even kidding about the whole 'fancy restaurant' thing. There's like, a couch in here. And even though I'm in the stall sitting on the closed toilet seat lid, I feel like the bathroom attendant is listening to me or something. I should expect to see a head peeking it's way under the stall door . . .

Anyway, I don't have much time to document what's happened on my and Troy's almost date. I have a feeling he's waiting outside impatiently for me, unless one of the waitresses finally succeeded in dragging him away. I know for a fact the second we walked in, they were all ogling at him. And no, I shouldn't feel jealous about that. Not after what Troy said to me.

I guess I should start from the beginning. About from the point where I was about to throw up, I was so nervous. That would have royally sucked, considering all the effort Sharpay and Taylor put into 'beautifying' me. They're at the dance right now, actually. I should probably text them later to see how it's going, but they left shortly before Troy finally showed up at my doorstep.

I had taken care of my Mom beforehand, so she was up in her room, probably counting down the minutes until I got home, even if I hadn't left yet. She's been waiting a long time for this.. Me to go on a date, I mean. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her it wasn't exactly a date, but she behaved, allowing me to open the front door when Troy rang the doorbell.

I'm going to take a second to describe just how Troy looks tonight, because believe me, I have never seen him looking better. He's wearing dark, cropped jeans with a pair of checkered _Vans_. He also paired a plain, white undershirt with a crisp, open button-down blue shirt that brings out his eyes. I can understand why the waitresses here started salivating over him instead of the food. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the food here is great, but Troy . . . Ugh, he's too good for me!

So I opened the door, and he just kind of stood there blankly. I seriously had to wave a hand in front of his face and go, "Um, Troy? Are you okay?"

He blinked a couple of times before he nodded, saying oddly, "Yeah, uh, I just blanked out there."

I realized his reaction was because of my new attire, but I took it as a bad thing. "Oh," I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah, Sharpay kind of ambushed me with Taylor, and . . ."

"No!" he interrupted me, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "You look . . . I mean, it's . . . Shit."

"I can go change, if you want me to," I started uncertainly. I mean, he was still staring at me. In a different way then he usually does, too. It was almost like . . . The atmosphere changed and the temperature rose a few degrees. I could _feel_ his gaze on me, hot and dark and something I have never felt before.

Troy was silent for a couple of seconds, but then he said, "I should have known recruiting Sharpay would have led to something like this. Elle, I don't know if I can go out with you looking like that."

See why I thought he didn't like what Sharpay had done? I was so embarrassed that all I could think of to say was, "Why?"

Troy swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "Because all the freaking guys out there are going to be _staring_ at you."

I smiled softly, finally stepping outside and closing my front door behind me. "I'm sure they won't be, Troy."

"No, I'm positive they will be," he said huskily, then he surprised me by wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me to his car. He held the door open for me, then slid into his own seat.

"So," I began awkwardly as he pulled out into the street. "Where are we going? You still haven't told me."

"Well, I gave it some thought," Troy said, tapping his fingers on the stirring wheel. "I just hope you'll like it."

I opened my mouth to say something, but paused when Troy slowed into the parking lot of my neighborhood park. "Troy, what're we doing?"

Troy grinned, leaning behind his seat to pull out a gleaming, orange basketball. I eyed it for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "Surly you don't think my basketball skills have improved much since the last time, do you?"

Troy spun the ball effortlessly on his finger. "My point exactly, Elle. If you think about it . . . This basketball was the reason we became friends in the first place."

It was hard not to feel slightly disappointed when he referred to our relationship as _friends_.

"You mean it was the reason you pushed me into your pool," I corrected him.

"No," he laughed, flipping the ball towards me. I almost dropped it, but caught it by the tips of my fingers. "That was your horrible basketball skills. Which is why we're here."

I turned to look out the window at the park. It was starting to get dark, so the only visible areas were where the streetlights were shinning down on the swing set and the plain, concrete basketball court. Very few people were walking through the quiet paths.

"You won't push me into a tree if I miss my free throw again?" I asked jokingly.

"Nah, but you get points for hitting that annoying poodle." I spun around and whacked him lightly, but he continued to grin widely. "What? That thing has 666 shaved into its fur! Seriously, one time Chad and I were playing here, and it chased Chad around the park like, four times."

"That's too bad," I sighed, eyeing the French poodle which was walking pristinely with its owner. "They could have shared hair tips or something."

Troy laughed, then pushed his door open. Before I had even managed to unbuckle my seatbelt, he was opening my door as well and stealing the basketball from my clumsy clutches.

"Come on," he said, pulling on a jacket. "I have dinner reservations for eight o'clock."

Troy guided me along the path, skillfully evading the demon poodle. He didn't stop until we were at the farthest basketball court from his car, but it was also the most private. Trees almost surrounded the entire vicinity, blocking out everything except the basketball hoop, Troy, and myself. Oh, and the ridiculous ball.

"You, Gabriella Anne Montez, are going to learn how to shoot a free throw." As if to prove his point, Troy swiftly tossed the ball. It glided through the air until it swished through the net, hardly making a sound.

"How do you make it look so easy?" I asked, watching as he scooped the basketball up once more.

Troy shrugged, dribbling the ball unconsciously. "Well, you know how my dad is. He was varsity captain and MPV at East High in his day. I feel like he's been training me to be the same my whole life."

I cautiously took a step toward him and stole the ball. Because he wasn't expecting my action, I successfully turned away from him, awkwardly bouncing it. "At least your parents are always there for you, you know?"

"About that," Troy began. I could feel his presence behind me. "Have you talked to your dad since the whole . . . Incident?"

"No," I answered shortly. I'm not planning on talking to him any time soon, either.

"If you ever think you want to again, just tell me, okay? We'll do it together."

I bounced the ball on my foot, causing it to roll across the court. With a half smile as Troy smirked at my clumsiness, I replied, "I'll think about it, Troy."

He seemed to realize that I had no intention of speaking about my father, for he crossed the court in a couple strides to retrieve the ball. "So," he began, circling me. "Your lesson on free throwing has now begun." He checked me the ball deliberately, making sure it bounced right into my fingers. "Step one is your stance."

"My stance?" I asked softly, already knowing where he was headed when he approached me from behind. With his stomach barely touching my back and his chin peering over my shoulder, he placed his hands over my own on the basketball.

"See?" he asked into my hair. "You're already tense."

If I was at all tense, it certainly wasn't because of my misguided basketball skills.

His finger tips lightly glided up my arm, resting on my elbows. He bent them upward until I was holding the ball in front of my face. Then his slid his hands back up to adjust my grip on the ball.

"Bend your knees," he advised, still keeping his hands over my own. "Ready?"

I tilted my head until I could see his face. "You better not be manipulating me into chucking this at that poodle."

Troy's eyes glinted in the streetlamps' glow. "Chad would be forever grateful," he muttered playfully.

"You'd be making a new enemy," I said pointedly.

"How so?"

"Don't you think the poodle's owner will be somewhat revengeful when her precious pet gets mauled with a basketball?" I asked sweetly.

"We'll take our chances," he replied, and the next thing I knew, he had tightened his hold over my hands and released the ball into the air. I watched in awe as it sailed perfectly into the net.

"Oh, my gosh!" I exclaimed, lowering my hands to my sides. I turned to Troy and automatically hugged him. After a couple seconds, I realized what I was doing and tried to pull away. But Troy had already secured his arms around my waist and was holding me tightly to him. I was only so happy to continue hugging him.

"Looks like you're not as unskilled at basketball as you think you are," he whispered in my ear. His finger was tracing some sort of imaginary design on my back.

"I'll admit to that when I can do it myself," I said, swallowing as he continued his odd drawing.

We were silent as we stood in our embrace. I concentrated on what Troy was doing, trying to visualize what he was tracing with his fingertips. At one point I was almost positive he was drawing letters, but I had no idea which ones.

"Gabs," he began softly, startling me. "I'm glad you suck at basketball."

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or what."

I could feel his body reverberating with laughter. "No, it's just . . . If you didn't lack basketball skills, you never would have thrown the basketball in my pool that day. And if that never happened, I don't know where we'd be right now."

I have an idea, but I wasn't about to tell Troy it.

"I just want you to know that you . . . You've really changed me into a better person. I don't like who I was before, not anymore. Elle, you're seriously a huge part of my life and . . ." he paused, pulling away from me so he could look me in the eyes. "I don't want you to leave it any time soon."

What is a person supposed to say to _that_? Quite honestly, I don't even think there's a grammatically correct sentence that corresponds to what Troy said to me on that basketball court. And because words were failing me, I merely leaned forward and hugged him again.

I not sure how long we stood that way, but when I shivered in the wind, Troy dropped his arms and unzipped his jacket. "You're cold," he muttered simply, placing it over my shoulders.

I smiled. "Troy, you have a bad habit of lending me your jackets and never getting them back."

He shrugged. "You have a bad habit of managing to look so good in my jackets that I couldn't possibly make myself want to have them back."

I blushed, turning away from him and pulling the jacket more tightly around my body. Because I still had no idea what to, I walked over to the basketball and picked it up.

"We should get going," Troy said, cutting the silence. "You hungry?"

"Starving," I replied truthfully.

He grinned. "That's music to my ears after dating people like Lindsay and Shannon. I don't know how someone can make a dinner so expensive, and yet they only order a small garden salad."

"It's an unsolved mystery," I agreed.

We both headed back for his car, though we had a brief fight in which Troy tried to steal the basketball from me when we passed the poodle and it almost peed on his shoes. And then, after a short fifteen minute car drive, we arrived at the restaurant. Like I mentioned before, it's a freakishly fancy restaurant that offers both sparkling and regular water. Who does that?

Anyway, we walked in to see a guy that was probably a couple years older than Troy and I checking the reservations. For some reason, Troy grabbed my hand as we approached him.

"I have a reservation under Bolton for eight o'clock," he said curtly.

The guy turned a page in his book and ran a pen down slowly, searching for Troy's name. When he found it, he shot me a charming smile and said, "It'll be a couple of minutes."

Troy nodded and pulled me away from the guy so we were standing off to the side by a couple of chairs. I was still perfectly aware of his warm hand that was enclosed over my own, but Troy didn't look perturbed.

"So, I wonder how the gang is holding up at the dance," he started conversationally.

I shrugged. "I'm sure they're all having a good time."

"I'm worried about Taylor," Troy said seriously, though his eyes gave him away.

I decided to play along. "And why is that?"

"Because Chad is the worst dancer. Period. Seriously, the kid wasn't even born with two left feet."

I am still waiting for a text message from Taylor asking what medicine is best for relieving pain from trampled feet. As if high heels weren't bad enough . . .

"What about you, Troysie?" I asked, using his fake nickname for what seemed like the first time in ages. "Have you been blessed with happy feet?"

"Happy feet?" Troy asked, clearly confused.

"Oh, you know that movie, _Happy Feet_? The one where the penguin can't sing, so he dances?"

Troy's mouth hung open slightly as my comment sunk into his brain. "Wait, penguins sing?"

"Never mind, Troy," I laughed. "It's just a movie."

"One that I'm immensely glad I have not had the misfortune of seeing," he muttered, turning his head toward the guy who was writing down a reservation via telephone. When he hung up, the guy looked up at us and said, "Bolton, party of two?"

"That's us," Troy said, pulling me by our still connected hands.

We were guided to a table that had a lovely window view and a cheery, bright white table cloth. Troy and I sat down as the guy handed us our menus and turned to leave.

I really needed to get somewhere where I could write down all that has happened so far, right? So when we got to our table, I excused myself and was like, "I'll be right back, Troy, okay?"

But he kind of looked at me oddly and asked, "Where are you going?"

"The bathroom."

"Oh, I'll go with you," he replied hastily, already pushing his chair in.

"Um, Troy? You're a guy, you can't follow me," I reminded him.

"I know," he said briskly. "But that waiter has been eyeing you ever since we arrived."

"I could say the same about your ever-growing fan club," I informed him, nodding my head to the cluster of waitresses that were standing in front of the kitchen entrance. They were giggling vivaciously as Troy and I walked past them.

Troy ignored my comment. "I'll be out here waiting for you, okay?"

And . . . Well, yeah. That's where we are right now. I'd seriously better get back outside to Troy. I've been in here for quite a while, even if I've been writing in this diary so fast that my handwriting is practically illegible.

Friday, October 9, 2007. Restaurant Table, 8:47 PM.

The only reason I'm able to write anything right now is because Troy got a phone call from Chad. Apparently Chad didn't want to say anything to Troy when I was in their presence, so Troy apologetically excused himself from the table to go talk to him. But besides that tiny occurrence, our dinner has actually been going really smoothly.

When I got back from the bathroom, I almost started laughing because Troy was surrounded by at least two waitresses. He was just standing with his hands awkwardly in his jeans pockets, trying to be nice. When he saw me, his eyes went wide and he exclaimed, "Elle, _there_ you are, lets go!"

"What, Troysie?" I asked as we walked back to our table. "You don't want to make friends with those lovely girls?"

"Lovely my ass," Troy said harshly. "Speaking of my ass, I'm almost positive one of the groped it . . ."

We sat down and proceeded to look at our menus. Here's what the first page looked like:

Steak: 27

Chicken: 20

Pasta: 17

Lobster: 80

Okay, so it was obviously more luxuriously described. Like, it was Pasta Bolognese or whatever. But the waiter took our menus away after we ordered, so I can't document it very accurately. My point is how freaking expensive everything is! I felt bad about ordering anything more than a 'Lindsay and Shannon' salad, but for different reasons.

But I had told Troy I was starving, so I settled for the pasta, seeing as it was the least expensive of the main dishes. Troy ordered some kind of steak dish with a baked potato and we both chose a couple of cokes. And I have to say, the food here must be expensive for a reason, because the meatballs in my pasta were really, really delicious.

"This is a nice change from our usual fudge, huh?" Troy asked, cutting into his steak.

"Hey, I like your mom's homemade fudge!" I defended.

"Want a bite?" Troy asked, holding out a particularly tender piece of his meal toward me.

I paused for a second, looking at the forkful of food. I mean, if we were sharing each other's food, surely that meant we weren't on just an _almost _date, but a _real _date, right? But I took his fork from him and placed the piece of steak on my tongue. It was perfectly flavored and not at all chewy. I smiled a closed mouth smile as I chewed, handing him his fork back.

Am I reading into that too much? Was he merely just being nice and sharing what he thought was a good piece of steak? Ugh, I really am no good at this date stuff.

Oh, Troy's back. He has a funny expression on his face. I wonder what happened . . .

* * *

A/N: Okay, what do you think Chad said to Troy? Hamm . . . Please review! You guys are amazing, this story almost has 1000 reviews! Holy crap! Anyway, you know the drill, review and I'll send you a preview for the next chapter!


	23. IMPORTANT

A/N: Hey guys. I am SOOO sorry about the lack of updates. To be honest, I haven't had much inspiration to do nay writing lately because my boyfriend Cameron and I just went on a 'break'. Though at this point, it's doubtful we'll be getting back together. Those of you who have been with me for a while know how much I care about Cam, so these past couple weeks have been really hard for me. That and the fact I have 3 AP classes just equals a very depressed, busy me who is so sorry to all my faitful reviewers that it's been a really long time since I've last updated. Please bear with me! I'm finding my way out of this funk and will hopefully find a desire to plop myself down this Friday and jam out a chapter for you guys. Once again, I'm so sorry!

--Crystalbluu


	24. Chapter 20

****

A/N: So I know it's been literally two months since I last updated. And I can't even say begin to say how sorry I am to all of you who have stuck by me all this time. But I decided to tell you what happened, why I was pretty much dead. Basically, not only did my boyfriend Cameron and I go on a break, but we broke up. And not well, might I add. I haven't talked to him since the break-up because he did something REALLY stupid that I can't forgive him for. And it sucks, because for those of you that know, Cameron and I were best friends literally since like, fourth grade. So you can understand why I was so out of it for a while.

I honestly re-wrote this chapter five times because the first two drafts were two depressing and the second two felt too out of character. I didn't want to just throw out something that was horrible, just so you guys could read it, because I've worked really hard on a lot of this story and didn't want to ruin it because one guy was a jerk. So, yeah. And because this has taken so long, here's little re-cap to refresh your memories:

RECAP

- Shannon told East High that Troy and Gabriella were having sex because she found Gabi's bra in Troy's room, which Gabriella _still_ does not have back

- Chad and Taylor are at the school dance

- Gabriella decided to go to dinner with troy instead of going to the dance with Devin

-Troy took Gabriella out to play basketball and then to dinner, where he received a call from Chad and left the table

-Troy returned to the table with an odd expression on his face

And on to the LONG awaited chapter!

* * *

Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 11:34 AM.

Well, my 'date night' with Troy is over. If you would call it that anyway, considering _nothing_ happened. Troy and I are still where we were earlier today, just plain old friends . . . that almost kissed twice. This is just more proof that my life isn't a romantic comedy, because if it were, Troy and I would already be kissing to some really good soundtrack. Instead I'm stuck in my room, listening to some stupid song on the radio that has no meaning whatsoever.

Seriously. The chorus is like, _Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goooooooodbye_ . . .

Oh, my gosh, I think it's finally over. Ha! The announcer just said the song was called 'Hello'. Whoever wrote that song needs some hardcore lyric-writing classes. Honestly.

Wait, where was I? Oh, right, my horror movie life. You know, if someone were to write a song about my life, it would be the most depressing thing to ever hit the charts. Actually, it would be so bad that it would never even make the charts . . . Unless the Jonas Brothers were singing it. All their songs seem to fly on up there. But I doubt Disney would let them sing a song that revolves around a nerdy girl with a non-existent father, a workaholic mother, and a boring diary. That and I'd have a huge amount of fan girls trying to kill me because the guy they're going to 'marry' sang a song about me.

Besides, it's not like Shannon doesn't already want to murder me with her perfectly manicured fingernails for 'stealing her man'. No, really. She'd probably sharpen them to points or something really creepy along those lines. Which would only be pointless, because, again, Troy and I didn't do anything!

Basically, apparently Ms. Darbus showed up at the dance with the guy that kind of looks like my dad. I know, right! What ever happened to her huge emergency?

Troy got back to the table after talking to Chad and I asked him why he was wearing such a weird expression. He sat down, shoving his cell phone back into his pocket and blatantly said, "Uh, apparently Ms. Darbus is chaperoning the dance."

After my mouth hit the tablecloth, I finally managed to ask, "And you couldn't talk to Chad about that in front of me, because . . . ?"

Troy shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I had no freaking idea what the hell he was going on about because the music was so loud, so I wanted to get somewhere where I could yell at him to go outside."

Trust Chad to be the idiot standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor, shouting into a cell phone in attempts to communicate with Troy. Boys really are idiots, aren't they?

"Well, I guess Ms. Darbus' family emergency is over," I said lightly, causing Troy to snort into his drink.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, gasping for air. "Oh, God. That was the funniest moment of my life."

"Seeing Ms. Darbus buy a box of condoms?" I clarified.

We both stared at each other for a couple minutes, our faces scrunching awkwardly as we fought the extreme urge to burst out laughing vivaciously. It was almost like we were having an unvoiced contest, for we were both staring at each other, unblinking. I didn't even notice that Troy and I had unconsciously moved closer across the table and our staring had morphed into gazing until one of the flirtatious waitresses approached our table. Troy and I sprung apart awkwardly, and Troy rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the waitress expectantly.

I have to say, she did look a tad jealous, for she was eyeing me in an evil way as she rattled off about dessert specials. But I mean, really. Troy is seventeen. She looked like she was at least twenty-three. That's not only illegal, it's just SICK.

"Want to split something, Elle?" Troy asked smoothly, tapping his fingertips against the tablecloth in a rhythmic pattern. He seemed sort of frustrated with something.

"Oh, um . . ." I glanced momentarily at the dessert menu that the waitress was still holding and chose the first one I saw: Chocolate truffle mousse.

"'Kay, then, we'll take one of those, and the check, please," Troy said airily.

The waitress nodded, shot him one last enticing smile, then glided away. I watched her thoughtlessly for a moment, and when I turned back to Troy, he was watching me.

"What?"

He shrugged. "You just look really nice tonight."

I still can't get over the uncomfortable turnover of my stomach every time he compliments me. But the words almost felt foreign coming out of his mouth. It's just, what the heck does Troy even see in me?

I blushed, dropping my gaze from Troy and reaching for my glass of water as a distraction.

"Why do you always do that?"

I looked back up at him, confused. Troy's face was cynical, and he was resting his chin on the palm of his hand. "Uh, do what?"

"It's like, every time someone says something nice about you, you get this look on your face like you don't believe what they're saying."

"I don't do that!" I said defiantly.

I still don't know what he was talking about. I mean, it's not like I'm showered with compliments from people everywhere I go.

Troy grinned, flashing his perfectly white teeth. "It's nothing to be defensive about, Elle. Actually, it's endearing to know that modest girls exist."

"Disregarding all the egotistical snobs at East High?" I asked sarcastically.

And I'm not just referring to Lindsay and Shannon. I swear, almost every time I have to use the restroom before first period, the entire room is crowded with girls doing their hair or whatever. And you know how in some places, they have that one bathroom stall that has its own sink and mirror _along _with the toilet? Well, we have that in the girl's restroom at East High. It's one of the two stalls that are in the entire restroom. So you'll be waiting in line, wanting to actually _use_ the toilet, and some idiot will be standing in front of the mirror in the stall, doing their make-up. What. The. Heck.

"Hey, I've always told you that you're different," Troy said, but his smile flickered before he added, "Good different."

I shook my head, smiling slightly. "Is that supposed to be another compliment, Troysie? Because it's seemingly paradoxical."

Troy's grinned crookedly. "Okay, two things: One, so you're calling me Troysie again? And two, what the hell does paradoxical mean?"

I don't think I ever noticed when I stopped calling Troy 'Troysie'. I guess after he inferred that I was a slut.

"Well, you called me Elle, so I get to annoy you with Troysie. And paradoxical means like, contradicting."

Troy's expression told me he wasn't exactly sure what 'contradicting' meant either, but at that moment the waitress approached us with our dessert and the check. I'm not going to lie: that dessert was the best dessert EVER.

Seriously. First of all, the container that the mousse came in was _made_ out of chocolate. It was a solid chocolate cup! And then there was the mousse itself . . . Oh, so fluffy and chocolate-y. Ugh, I'm making myself hungry.

"Here's the check," the waitress said playfully, and she nearly placed the folder in Troy's lap before walking away, her hips swaying.

Troy was still oblivious to her advances, though I have to say I was appalled at how blatant some girls get. It's disgusting.

"Holy crap, this is what you ordered, Elle?" Troy asked, sliding the check onto the tablecloth without opening it. He swiveled the dessert plate around, looking at the skillfully crafted chocolate handle on the cup.

I swallowed, only imagining how expensive it probably was. "I guess so," I muttered slowly. "But we can send it back, Troy, I don't want you to pay for--"

But Troy had already grabbed a spoon and shoveled a heaping pile of the mousse into his mouth. He moaned, pushing the plate toward me before he closed his eyes, savoring the chocolate treat.

I broke a piece of the chocolate cup off the rim and dipped it into the mousse, giving into the chocolate urge. I mean, come on. No girl willingly gives up anything chocolate. Except that one chocolate _Laffy Taffy_. That stuff is just nasty.

"Okay," Troy mumbled, opening his eyes and breaking off a piece of the cup. "I would give up sex for this dessert."

My mouth dropped open. "Thanks for that pearl of wisdom, Troy."

He grinned, purposely showing off his chocolate-coated teeth. I giggled, throwing my napkin at him from across the table. Of course, with his basketball reflexes, he didn't even have to look at it in order to flawlessly catch it. He placed it back on the table in front of me.

"Seriously, though," Troy said after swallowing. "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

I stared at him uncomfortably. "Um, well that's . . . Good to know."

Like I would honestly know anything about sex. I mean, besides the technical stuff you learn in ninth grade health. Ask me about physics and chemistry; sex, on the other hand? Not so much of an expert.

"Don't get me wrong, I mean, it's great in the _moment_, but once it's over, it's just not . . . Satisfying." His blue eyes were boring into mine as he added, "I realize now that there has to be a connection."

If I was blushing before, I was most definitely blushing then. "So, you've never felt anything with all the girls you've been with?"

Troy laughed. "You make it sound like I've been with countless girls, Elle."

I raised an eyebrow at him, silently reminding him of his past flames. "I'm sure you have, Troy."

I wordlessly reached out to take another bite of the mousse, not knowing what else to say. My spoon was just digging into the mousse when Troy randomly reached out and grabbed my hand, causing me to release my grip on my spoon.

"Troy, what--"

"Two," he said bluntly. "I've been with _two_ people, okay? Not a ton like East High's population says, not enough to give me a severe case of STD's . . . Just two."

His voice was surprisingly strained, and I gaped at him, shocked at his sudden outburst. "Why . . . Why'd you just tell me that?" I asked, stumbling over my words.

Troy swallowed, his gaze lowering to our hands, which were still intertwined. "I'm not going to say that I've never made-out with girls, because I've done a lot of that."

I could feel that my mouth was agape, but I couldn't bring myself to close it. I mean, Troy was revealing an extremely personal aspect of his life to me.

"But I've only ever been with two girls _in that way_, and they were both meaningless and stupid and . . ." he paused, looking up at me again. "I don't like the fact that you think I'm some man-whore. Because you're too good for any guy like that."

Wow. Right? So, ultimately, even if Troy and I didn't kiss tonight, we did get at least emotionally closer. Which is more important, anyway . . . Oh, who am I kidding? What girl doesn't want to kiss Troy? Well . . . What girls is slightly afraid of kissing Troy?

Is it possible to really, really like someone and _still_ be afraid of kissing them? I know this is just making me even more of a nerd than usual. But I can't help but feel a little . . . Intimidated by Troy. Here I am, never been kissed girl, and there _he_ is, Mista Playa.

Whoa, did I really just write that? I've been hanging around Taylor too much, who's been hanging around Chad WAY too much . . . Oh, Chad. He is such an idiot.

And I know Troy said he's only had sex with two girls. That would make me feel better if we were at _that_ stage. But we haven't even crossed first base yet, which is the base he admitted he's the most experienced at. Oh, my gosh. What about second base? He never said anything about second base! Ugh . . .

Anyway, Troy removed his hand from mine and opened the check folder. I watched him pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, still stunned at his former words. Fortunately I was able to regain the use of my limbs, so I picked up my fallen spoon and tucked it into my napkin, not really wanting anymore dessert.

"So, uh, what's the damage?" I asked softly, attempting to drag us out of the current solemn atmosphere we were stuck in.

Troy quickly pulled a slip of paper out of the pocket of the folder, slid it into his pocket, and shut the folder, not allowing me to see the receipt. "Ah, ah, ah, you don't ever get to see what the expenses are."

I stood up from my seat in order to reach across for the check folder, but Troy chose that moment to grab my hand again and drag me away from the table. "Troy," I complained, straining against him. "You can't do that, I wanted to pay for my portion!"

"Elle," Troy sighed. "I asked you to go to dinner with me, hence _I _pay for everything. But there is something you can do for me."

I frowned at him, not understanding what he meant. "What could I possibly do for you right now?"

Troy reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he had taken from the folder. "Can you give this back to our waitress?"

I opened the slip of paper curiously, only to see a series of numbers that could only be her phone number. Yeah. The stupid waitress put her number in our check and practically shoved the check folder at Troy so I wouldn't see it. What a . . . What a _Shannon_, right?

I folded the slip of paper and smiled sweetly at Troy. "Sure thing."

His expression was amused as I turned on my heel and headed toward where our waitress was standing, serving a tray of drinks to a table. She looked up at me when I cleared my throat.

"Um, my friend over there wanted me to give this back to you," I said, trying to make it seem like I had no idea what it was. "Apparently he has no need for it." I placed the slip of paper on her tray and walked over to Troy, who was laughing.

"Thanks," he managed to force out amid his fit of hysteria.

I looked over at the waitress, who was glaring at me. With a cock of my head, I surprised myself and Troy by grabbing his hand. "Come on, let's go."

He smiled softly and allowed himself to be pulled out of the restaurant by me. We walked hand in hand until we reached his car, where he let go to open the door for me.

"So, thanks for dinner, Troysie," I said as he slid into the drivers seat. "Even though you wouldn't let me pay."

"Elle," Troy began, turning the ignition on. "If you're so hung up about not being able to pay, how about you pay next time, alright?'

I know it sounds like he was asking me out again. And I'll admit that I kind of thought he was, too. But, considering we never kissed tonight and the fact I have no relationship experience, he was probably just making a plan to go to dinner as friends. Again.

The car ride to my house was uneventful, though we talked about having to go to Ms. Darbus' class on Monday and how Troy never got to kill the poodle in the park. We pulled up beside my house, not entering the driveway because my Mom's car was still parked there. Of course she was waiting for me to come home. She practically interrogated me on the entire night. Not that I would tell her about anything if it _did_ happen. I love my Mom, I really do. But we just can't talk about those sorts of things. I guess it's because I feel awkward talking about my relationships when _hers_ obviously ended so horribly.

I opened the car door, turning my head to say goodbye to Troy only to find that he was stepping outside with me. "Come on, I'll walk you up," he said, shivering slightly in cold.

We walked silently until we reached my front door which was lit up by a small outdoor lamp on the side of the house. Troy slid his hands into his pockets, bouncing on his heels slightly.

"So, tonight was really fun," he said softly.

"Yeah," I agreed, nodding my head. "I probably would be dying in boredom at the dance."

Troy grinned, inching closer to me. "I do have doubts that you would find wild high school dance fun, but I don't have doubts that you probably would have looked amazing in a dress."

"Um," I stuttered, my mind going blank as Troy was now towering over me, practically trapping me up against my front door. His eyes were shining in the glow of the outdoor lamp, and his hair was perfectly messy. I could feel his breath against my nose, hot in the cold air and smelling like chocolate.

Troy didn't say anything as his hand reached up to brush my bangs away from my face, causing me to involuntarily shudder at his touch. Our faces were probably inches away at this point, his eyes unmoving and his nose grazing my own.

And that's when Afro-Boy decided to call Troy, causing Troy's ringtone to break the silence and for both of us to jump back for the second time that night, startled at the sudden noise. I looked down at my feet, blushing furiously as Troy drew his cell phone out of his pocket and yelled, "What?!"

I could hear Chad's muffled voice from Troy's phone, but all I could comprehend was the fact that Troy and I had almost kissed. And for some reason, no matter how much I knew I wanted to kiss him, an overwhelming feeling of fright spread across me. I started to breath irregularly and grabbed onto the doorknob for support. Because Troy almost kissed me. He almost kissed _me_. And like I said before, he has experience that I can't even _dream_ of. What if we finally kissed and I sucked at it? Would he push me away and run off to find someone who actually had an idea of what they were doing?

I finally looked up at Troy who was saying something to Chad, his expression more frustrated then ever. I vaguely comprehended the fact that Troy voiced a goodbye into the phone, then snapped his phone shut forcefully. He looked at me, his eyes emitting an emotion I couldn't understand.

"Um, my Mom's probably waiting for me inside," I said shakily, turning the doorknob with the hand that was still resting on it. "I should . . . Um, go. Yeah, goodnight, Troy."

And I opened the door, closing it in his face without giving him a chance to say anything. I leaned against the door, breathing heavily for a couple seconds before turning to look through the peephole. Troy was still standing outside, a severely confused expression on his face. I could see that his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were obviously conflicted. But he didn't knock on the door to talk or to question my motives. He merely spun on his heel, slumping toward his car. He paused briefly to vigorously kick a rock in the street, but then he got into his car and drove away.

I know. Who's the Shannon, now? Apparently not only am I stuck in a horror movie, but I'm also the director.

So now I'm sitting pathetically in my room, listening to stupid songs on the radio. Have I mentioned how much I seriously hate Chad, by the way? Even though I totally didn't have to ditch Troy like that, we may have still kissed if Chad hadn't called. Idiot.

Saturday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:01 AM.

So I tried watching TV to get my mind off the whole situation tonight, and guess what was on . . . _Never Been Kissed_.

Is that what's going to happen to me? I'm going become an undercover, obviously older than eighteen, high school student wearing a hideous white-feathered outfit? But of course Troy would never be a teacher at East High. He'd kill himself before working with Ms. Darbus. So I guess the whole storyline would never play out, anyway. But still.

Saturday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:28 AM.

I can't sleep. This is just pointless. And I keep hearing the wind against my balcony door. I swear it's saying "Will never be kissed" in a creepy, howling voice. Ugh. I'm going mad. Now I'm hearing imaginary rocks being thrown against the sliding door. What's next, my electricity is going to go out?

Oh, my gosh. Wait. Those rocks aren't imaginary. Someone's seriously out there . . . Hang on.

TROY?!

* * *

****

A/N: I know, as if you all didn't hate me enough for making you wait so long for this one. But trust me, I'm better now, and will be updating A LOT faster than this last time. Anyway, hope you like the new chapter! For those who have forgotten, if you review, I'll send you a preview for the next chapter! Oh, that reminds me. I think there were like, five people who never got the preview for this chapter because they reviewed when I was in my slump. I'm sorry I never sent it to you, but this time I PROMISE you will get it.

Cheers, and happy holidays!

--Crystalbluu


	25. Chapter 21

A/N: There once was a girl named Sam. But she wasn't like any normal girl. No, unfortunately she was going through some problems. But not just anyproblems. No, Sam was going through severe _depression_.

Okay, I'm getting tired of referring to myself in the third person. It's rather annoying and makes me feel arrogant. Which, by all means, I am _not. _So, yeah . . . hi, everyone. I bet you thought I just abandoned this, huh? I'm going to be honest with you: so did I.

It's been like, seven months. Oh, jeeze . . . I didn't realize it had been that long until I actually counted. Well, just add it onto the guilt pile. Because that's how I feel right now. Extremely, ineffably guilty. But not just for not writing this. I've been ignoring the emails or messages any of you have sent me. And I honestly have no explanation for my actions except for the meager excuse that I thought I would never come back to this story. But now that I'm better, here I am.

I sincerely express the deepest apologies to all of you. I'm not about to elaborate on this matter both for my sake and all of yours, but just know that I haven't been sitting back in my computer chair watching re-runs of _American Idol_. Depression is in no way near that much fun, and I hope none of you ever have to go through it. Because once the black clothing, heavy make-up, not-talking-to-anyone thing is finished, you'll have nothing to show for the past five months except an inbox of unanswered emails, friends and family who worry about you, and a folder full of emo songs. Not worth it whatsoever.

I also hope all of you know how precious life is; now that I have rediscovered this, I know I will never forget. No matter how hard school gets, how tough guys can be, or how much you wish things would just end, life _always_ gets better. And there will always be someone who cares about you, whether it be a friend, teacher, or family member.

Alright. I think I have thrown all of you guys into my pit of despair long enough. You can all crawl out like I have and move on. Maybe throw yourself back into Troyella bliss. Because thankfully, this chapter is far from the depressing stuff I was writing before.

This chapter did not work out how I planned it would when I thought up the story in 2007. And a seven months ago, when I originally started writing this chapter, it was definitely different than this final product, which is why the preview some of you may have does not appear in the chapter. I know some of you may not like this chapter, but the concept of it has been there throughout the entire story. And I'm sorry if any of you think that it is short, but I felt it needed to end where it did. I have not decided on whether or not this story will continue on much farther. I'm thinking that the next chapter or maybe the one after that will be the epilogue. There are a few loose ends to tie up. Anyway, without further ado, read on!

Peace, love, happiness,

Sam

* * *

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 12:28 AM.

That _is _Troy, right? I mean, it's not some random creeper throwing rocks at my window, right? I'm going to try to get a closer look . . . Well, I mean, how much can you tell about a person if they have a hood pulled over their head? But that's definitely an East High sweatshirt, so I don't know.

Maybe I should just open my sliding door. What could happen? Besides me being abducted or something equally scary along those lines. But people let weirdoes into their houses all the time. Have you even _thought_ about who the heck Santa Claus is? Seriously.

Top Five Reasons Santa Claus Is Secretly a Creeper

1. You can't see half his face because of that ridiculous beard. Doesn't it always seem like all the scary rapists shown on the news have beards? Beards or mustaches.

2. He sneaks into peoples' houses through chimneys. I'm pretty sure this constitutes as breaking and entering. Also, how does he fit down a chimney when he's supposed to be so fat? Honestly. And how many people even have chimneys theses days? It's all about those electric fires.

3. He eats everyone's cookies. As if he weren't already fat enough, he has to go and eat several billion cookies in a night. Those poor reindeer, having to pull him across the world. Animal cruelty, anyone?

4. He places mysteriously wrapped packages under Christmas trees. Tell me there isn't a bomb in one of those boxes.

5. Ladies and gentlemen, the finale: he spends his time with elves that make toys all year 'round.

As if that doesn't insinuate _something_.

And all you people willingly let him into your homes. So this person chucking rocks at my sliding door can't be _that_ bad. I think.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 8:13 AM.

Okay, so it _was_ only Troy. And I'm so giddy right now, I can barely write this entry without my hand shaking. I'm not kidding; this entry could be rivaled by a Kindergartener's handwriting. It's that messy. But in all honesty, right now I could care less if my dad waltzed into the room, told me he was cheating on Chastity with Ms. Darbus, admitted that Chad was somehow related to me, and then ran off into the horizon. _Nothing_ could upset me at this moment. _Nothing_.

Anyway, starting from where I left off, I snuck over to the side of my sliding door and hid behind the curtains, just watching the mystery guy throw rocks. It really didn't take that long for me to recognize who it was, one, because the way he was throwing the rocks was unbelievably smooth with athleticism, and two, because he was scuffing his shoes against the grass in a way Troy always does when he's impatient. So I scuffled over to my mirror, sighed irritably at my unfixable appearance, and then hurriedly grasped the door to pull it open. Unfortunately, Troy had just thrown one of his rocks up at my window. Of course, because this is still _me_ we're talking about, the rock hit my left shoulder and I let out a sharp, "_**OW**_!"

The mystery man (Troy, Troy, TROY!!!!!!) and I both froze at my sudden outburst. My hands automatically flew up to cover my mouth and I listened intently for any sign of my mom awakening. Luckily she stayed asleep. My eyes darted back over to the guy below me. He flipped his hood off his head, and I scowled at Troy's guilty grin.

"Maybe you should use darts next time, Romeo," I hissed down at him, stepping out onto my balcony.

"I might have about an hour ago," Troy stated blandly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I winced at his comment. Of course he would have been angry, not to mention confused after I ditched him on my doorstep.

"Troy, I—"

"Elle, just stop," Troy interrupted me.

I couldn't see his expression clearly in the dark, but I was sure it matched the tone of his voice. It was clipped and sharp, far from the warm tone he had used barely hours before. I swallowed thickly as I watched him pace below the balcony, unsure of whether I should say anything or not. But then he continued.

"I can accept who I am," he said, pausing in his stride to stare up at me. "I know I used to be that superficial guy. I played girls just as well as I played the court. I snubbed people who I didn't think were worthy enough to talk me."

"Troy—"

He silenced me by waving his hands in the air. I shut my mouth confusedly. All I could think was, "What the heck is he going on about?"

"I was so high on myself, so . . . so fucking oblivious to the fact that I was completely blind. And once I finally realized I was acting like a dick, it was hard to turn myself around." Troy shoved his hands into his pockets. "Imagine having—I don't know, amnesia—and you have no clue about who you were before. And then something just triggers your memory and you find out about your past. You really see who you were as a person. It's tough to accept that, you know?"

By this point my mouth was slightly open and I was gripping the handrail of my balcony. "What?" I asked slowly, bewildered.

"I had amnesia when we met," Troy clarified. "I treated you like shit, and I didn't care because all I saw was the nerd who got a twenty-three hundred on her SATs."

Okay, a part of me forgot how much of a shallow person Troy used to be. But then he said that and it all came rushing back into my mind.

"When you didn't come back up after I pushed you into my pool . . ." Troy trailed off and cleared his throat. "It was like I took a step back out of my body and really saw who I was. It was my trigger. I remembered."

"I don't understand," I breathed. "I mean, we became friends after that. And you just said it was hard to accept what you saw. You couldn't accept the fact that we were friends?"

Troy remained silent for a couple seconds. His feet shuffled noiselessly in the grass and his gaze burned a hole into the ground.

"I can't really explain it," he stated blankly. "Part of me was stoked to leave behind who I was before. But the other part of me couldn't believe I was friends with you."

I could feel tears prickling the back of my eyes. I wished I had never come outside of my bedroom to hear this.

"So you're saying you regret everything?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"No!" Troy exclaimed unexpectedly.

I inhaled sharply and closed my eyes, willing my mom to stay asleep.

"Then what, Troy? Because everything you've said up to this point is not making any sense whatsoever."

Troy sighed, finally looking up at me again.

"Being with you is the only time I can truly be myself, Elle," Troy said softly. "But there were times I couldn't see why you wanted to be with _me_ after the way I treated you. You've never done anything bad to anybody, even if they've hurt you. And I just . . . I didn't think I deserved you after all that I had done."

I was shocked. All this time I was thinking he was too good for _me_, and he was thinking the exact same thing? What? How could I be too good for him?

"I kept trying to keep my mind set on one level, a _safe_ level. But you were my drug, Elle. It was like every second we spent together, my feelings accumulated higher and higher. And then when we were trapped under Chad's bed and you said you'd never been kissed . . ." Troy took a deep breath, almost as if he were shuddering. "It was like you were _fucking_ luring me in."

Wait. Was I hearing this all right? I thought it must have been a dream. A crazy, weird, fantastic dream.

"So I did the only thing I could do that would push you away from me. I went with Shannon."

Oh. Yeah, this had to be a dream.

"She was everything you weren't: slutty, self-centered, overbearing, bitchy . . . And once we started dating, I felt like I was punishing myself enough to continue being with you."

"Troy, that's ridiculous," I said, my voice going up a couple octaves. "There had to be something between you two. You wouldn't just do that to yourself."

He shook his head.

"There were times I thought I could just push you aside," Troy replied. "Shannon really isn't all that bad once you get to know her. Plus, she was kind of obsessed with me. It made things a little easier. I could pretend that I actually liked her in that way."

"I am SO confused," I sighed, leaning my full weight against the edge of my balcony.

"I wanted to forget you, Elle," Troy continued. "Hell, I tried to forget you. You just unconsciously kept fighting your way back in. Like when your Dad called and you ran away. I was so worried about you that I went to your house, even if it was the day after the party—the day I wanted to avoid you the most.

"And then, of course, _O'Connal_ came into the picture. I couldn't keep myself from wanting to lunge at him every time I saw him at school. And it was only because I thought you liked him. It killed me to know that I wasn't the only guy you chose to hang out with."

Okay, so obviously the plan of making Troy jealous had worked. Not that I ever saw _that_ coming or anything. Still, it's nice to know one of my plans worked for once.

"So why did you call me a slut?" I asked. "To distance yourself again?"

"Well, yeah," Troy said reluctantly. "But I didn't mean a word that I said. I was just angry that I had let my feelings get in the way again. . . So I pushed _you_ away."

The entire story was like a teeter-totter. We'd go up and be together, and then we would go down and be apart. Everything that had happened between Troy and I in the past was finally making sense.

"Would you ever have spoken to me again if I hadn't called you the day I had lunch with my dad?" I asked, finally understanding.

Troy shrugged. "I-I don't know, Elle. You hated me because I insulted you and I thought you would be happy with O'Connal. It was the perfect excuse to keep you away from me. But then you called me, and it just changed everything."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

"I guess it gave me hope," Troy said delicately. "The fact that you called me even when we were fighting . . . it proved to me that you probably felt the same way I did about you."

I couldn't find the words to respond to him.

"I really thought we were getting somewhere, Elle. I tossed all my worries about not being good enough for you aside. I _finally_ let myself get close to you the way I wanted to get close to you. And then you ran away tonight and it just made we question whether or not I've imagined all of this."

If I couldn't respond to him before, I definitely had no idea what to say to him now. But for some reason, as I looked down at him form my balcony, the words began pushing their way through my mouth with no inhibitions.

"Troy," I began, taking a deep breath. "I've loved you for a while now."

Troy let out a sharp breath. Then, without saying anything, he strode briskly to the tree that grew beside my balcony and began to climb it. I watched him with bated breath as he clung to each branch, slowly making his way up to me. And then—he was before me.

His impossibly blue eyes were filled with emotion as he stepped into the light, silently observing me. My tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of my mouth as a waited for him to respond to my previous confession.

"Can you repeat that," he murmured, his breathing heavier than normal.

I blinked. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, so I balled them into fists to keep Troy from noticing.

"I love you," I mumbled.

Troy shut his eyes, shielding me from seeing how my words had affected him. My only reconciliation was the way the corners of his lips tilted upwards in a relieved smile. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, and then grabbed me so unexpectedly that I squeaked. He wrapped his arms around my waist, leaving me to lean my head against his shoulder as he held me tightly to his chest.

"You have no idea how it feels to hear you say that," he whispered into my ear, causing a delicious shiver to run up my spine. "And by the way, in case you haven't realized it yet, I love you too."

There. That moment right _there_. It has to be, hands down, the best moment of my entire life. Troy Bolton said he loves me. ME! Geeky Gabriella Montez! _Troy Bolton_ loves _me_!

"Grab my phone for me," Troy said suddenly.

Apparently he had no intentions to break our embrace, so I lowered one of my hands to reach into his left pocket for his cell phone.

"Okay," I deadpanned. "Now what?"

"Turn it off," Troy ordered.

My eyebrows furrowed as I fumbled with his phone a few seconds until I was pretty sure it had turned off.

"It's off, right?" Troy asked. "Completely disconnected from any calls?"

I turned the phone over in my hands and tested the buttons. "Yup, it's off."

"Good."

He removed his hands from around my waist and tiled my head up to face him.

He had my favorite crooked grin playing across face as he said, "No more distractions."

And then he cupped my chin, tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind my ear, and leaned down to kiss me.

Alright. I can't decide. Which moment is better: this moment or the 'I love you' moment? Both come pretty close in my opinion.

* * *

A/N: Well, there you have it. The Troyella kiss. I don't have a preview for you guys to the next chapter because I have no idea where to start on the ending. This story has been on the back of my mind since 2007 and it will be 2010 in a few months. I can't even comprehend the ending.

To be honest, I'm not even going to ask you guys to review. I would be mad at an author that did not update for forever. So it's up to you guys. Just know that I'm forever thankful for every ounce of support and love that you guys sent forth to this story in the past. It was what prompted me to get back to it in the first place. And a large thank you to Barbara for helping me through my depression. I'm still drafting your next email :]

Love always, Sam


	26. Chapter 22

_**A/N:**_** Here it is. The final chapter of Diary of a Nerd. *Sob* It's been a long, bumpy road. Once again, I sincerely apologize for the five month wait. I've been finishing college applications and surviving the trials of senior year . . . among other things, as most of you know. So thank you for sticking with me all these years. it's truly been a pleasure. Enjoy Gabriella's final diary entries; I know I enjoyed writing them.

* * *

**

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:12 AM.

It appears I was not dreaming last night's incident. I mean, it seems like something I would do, seeing as my life is a tragic movie. But it wasn't a dream. It _actually_ happened. How do I know, you ask? Maybe the fact that Troy's in my bed . . . with his arm wrapped around my waist . . . and the majority of my blankets tangled in his legs. _Yeah._

Don't go thinking what I know you're thinking. I'm still wearing a pair of pajama pants and Troy's East High Basketball sweatshirt, so there were no inappropriate actions of any kind occurring in my bed. Troy is still wearing . . . Wait a minute. HOLY MOTHER OF . . . Troy's shirt is on the ground. When did _that_ happen? And how did I not notice that my body is pressed up against his naked chest? Oh, my gosh. His _chest_. Could it be any more perfect? He practically has an eight pack for goodness sake! Must resist urge to trace eight pack with finger, must resist urge to trace eight pack with finger . . . Seriously. Did I mention he has a light smattering of hair trailing down his torso and disappearing into his basketball shorts? Bad thoughts, Gabriella, BAD THOUGHTS!

But while I'm on the subject, why the heck do some guys wax their chest hair? I mean, really. Do they WANT to be feminine? Alright, then. Moving on.

I think I could lie like this forever and be absolutely content. With Troy's arm around me, I feel . . . safe, you know? Like nothing and no one could hurt me. All the troubles I have at school and with my dad don't matter to me as of right now. I just don't want to ever move from this position.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:21 AM.

Okay, I have to go to the bathroom.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:24 AM.

Alright, I just turned over so I'm on my back. All I have to do is gently lift his arm, slide out from under it, and hope I don't disturb his slumber. Mkay, on the count of three: one, two . . . Awwwwww.

His face is so serene! Almost childlike. Which is ironic, considering if I look down, I know I'll see the body of a Grecian _God_. But I already discussed his distracting abdomen. What I haven't mentioned is the five o'clock shadow gracing his jaw. Or the few freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his aristocratic nose. Or how his lips are naturally an enticing red . . .

What is _wrong_ with Troy? He never looks anything less than sexy! And me? Oh, jeeze. I do _not_ want to look in a mirror right now. I'll let Chad read this diary if my hair isn't an ineffable bird's nest, dark shadows don't brim my eyes, and the zit I felt forming on my chin yesterday made a miraculous disappearance.

Oh, wait. Chad _has_ read this diary. SEE?! It's a sign. I'm a medusa-raccoon-pizza-face. Why on earth did Troy kiss me? And better yet, why the heck did he say he loved me?

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:37 AM.

And I STILL have to pee.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 9:40 AM.

What if he opens those beautiful cobalt eyes of his and realizes I'm not worth his time? He's Troy Bolton for goodness sake! And who am I? Nerdy Gabriella Montez. We just don't compute.

Great. My throat is starting to ache in that way it does before you cry. That'll definitely make Troy question last night. What is wrong with me? I'm such a—

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 10:25 AM.

Troy's gone now. I made him go home because his parents are probably wondering where he was all night. He argued that they're used to his late night excursions. Typical. I mean, my mom would be worried about me if I wasn't home. But I never leave the house, so I guess it's a little different in Troy's case. I just figured that as his girlfriend, I should think about what is best for him.

. . .

Did you catch that? Did you, _**did you?!**_ G-I-R-L-F-R-I-E-N-D. Girlfriend!

I know. After reading where I was cut off at my last entry, this sudden occurrence seems rather random. But it happened. And he gave me his class ring!

I already strung it through a chain I had in my jewelry box. It's now proudly presented against my collar bone. He said he wanted me to wear it as a reminder.

Of course, just because Troy gave me his ring doesn't mean I feel good enough for him. I still don't. I just feel more . . . assured. He's my source of confidence. When I'm with Troy, I feel like I could be beautiful. He makes me happy, you know? I figure that as long as he somehow thinks I'm good enough for him, I should enjoy the ride. Even if I have no idea how long it will be. After this morning, however, I feel like the ride won't be ending for quite some time.

Basically, Troy woke up while I was writing in here. He kind of moaned, stretching his arms and scrunching his face in an adorable fashion. Then he sighed and buried his face into my shoulder.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice scratchy.

I wanted to hug him and whisper a greeting in return. More importantly, I _really_ wanted to kiss away his sleep-clouded expression. It was cuddly and sultry – a downright deadly combination. But Troy's teddy bear persona just made my oncoming tears quicken their pace. I let out an uncontrollable sob.

I know, right? Can you say embarrassing? Poor Troy was totally confused. Looking back, it's actually kind of humorous.

"Hey, _hey_," he had said urgently, tipping his head back in an attempt to see my face.

His worried expression merely worsened things; he was, without a doubt, the perfect guy. I tried to pull away from him, but his hand caught my chin.

"Elle, what is it?" he asked frantically. "Did your dad call again? I swear, I'll--"

"N-no," I interrupted, "it's . . . I-it's . . . nothing." I shook my head, trying and failing to calm myself down.

Troy was not convinced. "If it were nothing, you wouldn't be crying."

He pulled me to him. I fell against his chest like a ragdoll, shaking as his arms protectively encased me. My own hands drooped helplessly at my sides. I could smell his shampoo from where my nose rested at the nape of his neck. There was not a distinct scent about it, just a generically clean aroma. It was so Troy, and I found myself being involuntarily comforted.

"Is this what brought this on?" Troy asked quietly, breaking the silence.

I couldn't decipher what his tone meant. It was hard, as if concealing anger, but also somehow filled with hurt.

I pealed myself away from his shoulder to see this diary, brazenly open in his hand. Only one arm remained wrapped around my waist, so I was surprised that I hadn't noticed him reach over with his other arm to grab my diary, let alone read it. My breath caught in my throat. I know Troy has seen a few snippets from here in the past, but what I had ranted about in my last entry is absolutely mortifying.

My silence inadvertently answered Troy's inquiry.

"I see."

He snapped the diary shut, and then tossed it onto my pillow. The hand that wasn't still holding me to him reached up to massage the bridge of his nose. A muscle in his jaw was clenched. Assuming that he was angry at me, I made to move away from him.

"No," he said, his voice still strained.

I gasped as he suddenly flipped me around and pulled me onto his lap, crossing his arms in a seatbelt over my stomach. This time it was he who was breathing in the smell of my shampoo. I couldn't help but relax against him and close my eyes.

Come on. What would you have done? Super Woman wouldn't have had the strength to pull away. Heck, _Chad_ would have enjoyed the position. Wait, that came out all wrong. Never mind.

"I'm conflicted," Troy finally said. "I'm conflicted in so many ways, it's impossible for me to explain. But I'm going to try, Gabriella. And I'm sorry I invaded your space by reading your diary; it was just laying there. One of the things you said caught my eye and I couldn't stop reading because there is so much about what you wrote that just . . . It kills me that you see yourself that way."

The fact that Troy had used my full name kept me silent. It was obvious that he was being extremely serious.

"I know that some of your inferiority complex probably comes from your father leaving you, but a lot of it is thanks to jerks like me. Which is why I fucking _hate_ myself for treating you the way I did. You have to know that you are by far a better person than I have ever been. I was too much of a coward to step outside of the stupid school's expectations, and in the process I was hurting all the people who were smart enough to just be themselves."

He paused for a second, and a shiver ran down my spine when I felt his lips brush the back of my neck. I could feel his hot breath tickling the tiny hairs there, making them stand on end.

"And while I'm flattered that a girl like you thinks so highly of me, not to mention a little turned on . . ."

I blushed. I mean, I was sitting on his _lap_. Thankfully he was not turned on enough for a certain, ah, _body part_ to make itself known. I don't know if I'm comfortable enough for such a thing to happen . . . yet.

" . . . I want you to know that you are more than good enough for me. You're beautiful, inside _and_ out, which is more than I can say for myself. If anything, I'm the one that should be stressing over this."

"Troy." At last I had found my voice. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

Apparently I was still searching.

"How about this," Troy began, and he pulled me off of his lap so I could sit before him, face to face. "I meant what I said just now. Which means I also meant what I said last night . . . Elle, I _love_ you. I wouldn't care if you gained fifty pounds, teased your hair into an afro, and sang crappy Disney songs. But I . . . I want to make sure you meant what you said last night too, because I come with a hell of a lot more shit for you to accept."

It was strange seeing Troy so vulnerable. He was literally hanging on my every breath, like I was going to turn him down after what he just admitted.

"If you love me, than you know I never lie," I replied, biting my bottom lip. "Of course I love you too."

My favorite crooked grin broke out across his face, the one that showcases every single one of his pearly white teeth. I stared in awe at him until he leaned forward to kiss me.

It was everything and more than I can recall of our kiss last night. Last night was hesitant; obviously we both still held insecurities. Today it was like we were both opening up to each other, both physically and mentally. Troy wasn't holding back; he ran his warm tongue across my bottom lip, tracing it tenderly. I tried to keep up with his undeniable experience, but sometimes found myself drowning in his ministrations. He didn't seem to mind my naïveté in the slightest, for he moaned at the smallest, most tentative of touches. When we broke apart, Troy rested his forehead against my own while we both fought to catch our breath.

"So let me get this straight," he panted, his eyes closed. "You're _sure_ you've never kissed a guy before?"

I giggled. "I think I would know."

Troy let out a small guffaw. "Not only is it so sexy to know that I'm the only guy to have ever kissed you, it really scares me how good you already are at it."

"Really?" I asked disbelievingly.

He opened his eyes. I sucked a sharp intake of breath through my nose. They were no longer the clear, ocean blue I was accustomed to, but a dark, almost black color. I could sense his desire, and a bubble of love swelled in my stomach; he hadn't even tried to push me into something I wasn't ready for.

"Really," he breathed, and then kissed me softly once more.

I ran a hand through his hair, briefly investing myself in the new kiss before Troy turned away abruptly.

"Fuck, I'm in trouble."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good."

His eyes continued to burn into mine, though neither of us spoke. Troy was twisting his hands oddly, and it was only when his elbow jabbed rapidly outward that I realized he had been trying to remove his class ring. He played with it, a small smile of triumph on his face. I had a feeling he wasn't aware I had noticed.

"I don't want you to question my motives again, Elle. I promise I'll be there for you in the best way I can, no matter what the scenario is. Whether you need me when you finally call your dad back, or you're just feeling lonely . . . I'm here until you decide you don't want me anymore." And then he opened my hand, dropped his ring into it, and balled my fingers into a fist around it. "Be my girlfriend?"

As you know, I gladly complied. And then Troy ushered me to the bathroom, considering I still hadn't gone.

Now, sitting on my bed still wearing his sweatshirt, I already miss Troy's presence.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. Some Dressing Room at the Mall, 1:18 PM.

Okay, so I was moping around the house for the better part of an hour after Troy left. My mom kept looking at me strangely, but I assured her I was fine. I wasn't in the mood to inform her of my new boyfriend yet. She would make a huge ordeal out of it, probably invite Troy's parents over for dinner or something. I wanted to keep it between Troy and I for a little while.

Yeah, that idea went down the drain. Thank you, Taylor and Sharpay. That's right. I was innocently watching TV on my couch when the doorbell rang. I jumped up, excited because I thought it was going to be Troy. Then _they_ burst in . . .

"Oh, my GOD, how did it go?"

"Where did he take you?"

"Oh, Chad told me he took you to that one restaurant with the amazing pasta!"

"NO WAY!"

"Chad even called Troy to ask if one of you guys could order him one to go."

So _that_ was why Chad interrupted the almost kiss last night after the date? Wow. Chad is just . . . Special.

"Wait, did he kiss you?"

"EEEEIIIIIHHHHH, what is that you're wearing, GABI?!!!!!"

"OH MY GOD!!!!!!"

"HIS CLASS RING?!"

I'm going to stop documenting that moment. Let's just say it wasn't exactly pretty. Plus, my mom inevitably heard Taylor and Sharpay's insane shrieking. I'm sure the entire street knows that Troy and I are a couple. In fact, Troy needn't tell his parents – now they know.

Alright. I'll admit that I got a tad hyped up with them. Okay, a lot. But it's impossible resist the girly happy dance. You know the one I'm talking about. Like, when you get in a circle and just flail about with your friends? The one you would die to save from being posted onto _Youtube_? Yeah, _that_ dance.

Taylor was so excited that she immediately started babbling on and on about having a double date tonight, which got Sharpay excited about dressing me up . . . again.

So that's why I'm cooped up in a dressing room, surrounded by mounds of clothes. Troy and I are having a date with Taylor and Chad at the movies. Even worse, I can't help but be just as excited as Sharpay and Taylor.

Guess that's what having a boyfriend will do to you.

Oh, jeeze. Sharpay's back with another round of outfits.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. Drowning Under Clothing Pile, 1:31 PM.

He sent me a text:

* * *

_Hey, you!_

_Looks like the cat's out of the bag. Can't wait to see you tonight. _

_Love you, Troy

* * *

_

And I thought he couldn't get any cuter. Seriously. He doesn't even have to try. It's just not fair. How am I supposed to top his text message?

* * *

_Hey backatcha,_

_Dying in a swirling torment of Taylor and Sharpay. They're playing dress up doll with me. Miss you! _

_Love you too, Gabriella

* * *

_

Yeah, I suck at cute text messages. Sue me for never having flirted with a guy via cell phone.

* * *

_Hmm, what are you wearing? –Troy

* * *

_

He obviously has had plenty of practice. I'm trying not to think of who the practice was with. On the other hand . . . What would someone like Lindsay or Shannon reply? Think sexy and flirty, Gabs, think sexy and flirty . . .

Yeah, I've got nothing. Maybe I should just let him decide. I don't know.

* * *

_Use your imagination. –Gabriella

* * *

_

How was that? Oh, my gosh. I should have asked Sharpay or Taylor for advice. I'm so bad at this.

* * *

_You're going to be the death of me, Babe. – Troy

* * *

_

He called me Babe? Usually I really hate pet names, but for some reason . . . I like it. Guess that means I'm not as bad at flirty texting as I originally thought. Hey, you learn something new about yourself everyday.

Saturday, October 10, 2007. My Bedroom, 6:12 PM.

Okay, so I have a little over fifteen minutes to get this all down. Troy's picking me up at six thirty and we're going to dinner with just the two of us. Then we're meeting Chad and Taylor at the theater around nine to watch _Guns, Cars, and Fists_.

I'm not even going to _start_ in on the movie we're seeing. But it was either that or the third _High School Musical_ movie. As soon as I saw the screenings for it online, I immediately thought back to when Troy and I watched the first and second _High School Musicals_ when I was sick.

Amazing how much has changed in just nine days. Then, I wouldn't have been able to _fathom_ that my crush on Troy would turn into what it is today. If someone had told me Troy would love me, I would have personally taken them to an asylum.

Speaking of asylums, I should take Sharpay to one. That girl is a crazy ninja freak when it comes to picking out clothes. Apparently the date tonight is the first _real_ date, considering we're officially together. Whatever. A date is a date is a date. But don't tell her I said that.

I must have tried on at least thirty different outfits. However, I do have to say I like the final product. I was able to convince her to let me wear my favorite pair of jeans, but she bought me a new sweater when I refused to. Don't get me wrong, I really like it. It's a really soft gray-blue off-the-shoulder sweater. But, I mean, it was like eighty dollars! And when I tried to tell her not to buy it, she said it was her 'congratulations on your first boyfriend gift' gift.

Tell me you've heard of such a thing, because I haven't. Sneaky little Sharpay Evans.

Fortunately, I put my foot down when she tried to attack me with makeup. I may have put up with it for our last date, but Troy loves me for _me_. And personally, I never wear makeup. Period. At least I know he thinks I'm beautiful without having to hide beneath layers of goop.

The doorbell just rang. Here we go . . .

Saturday, October 10, 2007. Restaurant Restroom, 8:37 PM.

I really have a bad habit of hiding in various bathrooms to write in this diary. Jeeze, I am so weird. Have I mentioned this is the third time I've been in here tonight and have only _actually_ used the toilet once? I'm not kidding.

It's just been a really long, extremely dramatic night. The good new is that Troy still, for unknown reasons, loves me. And he is still the best boyfriend ever. The bad news is that I ran into Shannon. Yes, _that_ Shannon. The beyotch-who-told-East-High-that-Troy-and-I-slept-together Shannon.

Yeah. Like I said, it's been a long night.

Everything started out flawlessly. My mom had somehow gotten to the door before I did, so when I clambered down the stairs, she and Troy were already talking about something. I was glad that she liked him, but really, well . . . It was just awkward. So I kissed my mom's cheek and hurried out to the car before things got worse.

Oh, and a quick pause to mention that Troy looks mouthwatering tonight. He's wearing a pair of black jeans and a blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Absolutely indescribable. He did something different to his hair too. He kind of like, gelled it into what I can only describe as 'sex hair'.

And he said _I_ was going to be the death of _him_? As if.

Although, he did show me just how good he thought I look tonight as well. I think I'm getting better at the whole kissing thing. Yay me!

We went to a burger joint in town. Troy said he wanted to go to a place that served burgers because it was what we ate when we went to Ruby's together last month. I guess that's what he sees as our 'first date'.

I don't know. Everyone seems to have a different definition of what our first date is. Go figure.

It pleased me that conversation between Troy and I hadn't changed just because we became boyfriend and girlfriend. He was still unbelievably easy be around, with his hilarious recounts of his and Chad's countless dilemmas. I couldn't stop smiling over our burgers and chili fries.

I love him. Truly, I do.

Things got sticky when I excused myself to go to the restroom. I swear I was only gone five minutes, seven tops. But as I stepped out of the bathroom and began walking to our table, someone was sitting in my seat.

Yup. You know where this is going, right?

Shannon was in my chair! She was pressed against the edge of the table and letting her v-neck shirt slide _way_ too low. Her long blonde hair was falling around her shoulders, and by the way she was giggling, it was blatantly evident that she was flirting. Heavily.

In Troy's offense, he did not appear interested. In fact, he was practically counting the prongs of his fork. I would have laughed at the ridiculous situation had Shannon not leaned over the dirty plates and planted a kiss right on Troy's lips.

A monkey would have recognized Troy's lack of attention. But not Shannon. No, no. She just kissed Troy regardless. I mean, what an idiot! More accurately, what a _slut_!

It felt like time stood still. What seemed like a five minutes was probably barely three seconds. Second one, Troy's body visibly stiffened. Second two, his only movement was the widening of his eyes when he spotted me by the bathroom. Second three, I spun around and headed right back into the girl's bathroom. The door closed right as I heard Troy shouting, "Gabriella!"

So we're at the second time I went into this dirty bathroom. And even though I knew Troy didn't do anything wrong, I couldn't help but let a few tears slip down my cheeks. Part of the reason was because I was angry at Shannon, but the majority was because I was angry at myself. A normal person would have marched over to the table and pried Shannon away from her boyfriend. I just ran away like the nerd that I am.

You don't have to tell me. Believe me; I was already aware of how horrible a person I was.

Luckily there was no one in the bathroom, because I didn't bother slinking behind one of the stalls. I merely slumped against the sink for who knows how long. I'm not even sure what I was thinking. It's not like Troy would just ditch me or something. But I _certainly_ didn't imagine he would follow me into the girl's bathroom!

I looked up upon hearing the door open, expecting some snobby middle schooler to come in to reapply her lipgloss. My jaw dropped open when I saw Troy edging cautiously into the florescent lighting, his eyes silently begging me.

"Troy, what the heck are you doing in here?" I asked, shocked.

"Nothing happened," he said, ignoring my question. "Well, fuck, I mean, she kissed me, but . . . I didn't kiss her back, I _swear_. She just appeared out of no where and started talking about shit, I wasn't even paying attention. I figured you would be back any second and we could leave her there, but then she was kissing me and I couldn't move and I'm so sorry and--"

"Troy, it's okay."

"– I promise it didn't mean anything, I was just shocked--"

"Troy."

"--I mean, I love _you_ and she was just--"

"TROY!"

His pleading expression broke my heart, especially because I knew I had worsened the situation by fleeing the scene.

"I understand, Troy," I said softly. "And I'm sorry for leaving you like that, it was just a knee jerk reaction."

He shook his head, brushing my apology aside. "I told her to fuck off because _you_ were my girlfriend."

Now there's another sentence I never thought I'd hear directed at me.

I smiled and moved to give Troy an apologetic hug, but the bathroom door began to open. Without thinking, I shoved Troy into the nearest stall just as a girl around my age appeared. She glanced briefly at me, and then walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

I must have been staring bizarrely at her, for she felt the need to break the silence. "I um, I like your sweater."

_Oh my god, she knows!_

"Erm, thanks."

She turned the sink off and dried her hands on a paper towel. I shifted uncomfortably, willing her to go back outside. She fluffed her glossy hair in the mirror, adjusted her shirt collar, and then glided swiftly out the door.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding before knocking on Troy's stall. "Troy?"

"Ahem, taken," came a high pitched voice.

I snorted. "Troy, come out before some other person comes in."

The lock clicked open and Troy stumbled out, grinning sheepishly at me. "She was right, you know. That _is_ a nice sweater."

And then we both returned to our table as if nothing had happened, the only difference being that Troy refused to let go of my hand. We ordered a round of chocolate milkshakes, continuing where we had left off in Troy's story. I beamed at him, watching how dimples formed when he smiled in just the right way, or how his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. I could look at him for hours and never get bored.

In truth, I'm sure everything about Troy could never get boring. He'll continue to surprise me in every way when I least expect it. Take for instance, when I left to go to the bathroom for the third and final time tonight. He had slowly released my hand, smiled his famous crooked grin, and said clearly, "Love you."

Just like that. As if it were the most common, natural sentence to say to me. _Love you_.

Well, I have to go now. I've been in this cramped, unsanitary stall long enough. It's time to face _Guns, Cars, and Fists_. Even though I know that movie is probably going to suck more than Chad's impenetrable timing, I'll at least be with Troy. And with Troy, I'm willing to be open to anything.

_~Finite ~

* * *

_

_**A/N:**_** That's it, folks. I'm sorry if you wanted the story to go on further. Part of me wanted to try and stretch the story out so they could go to school as a couple, but it seemed unnecessary. Not to mention clichéd. I hope you liked the final chapter of **_**Diary of a Nerd**_**. **

**While Gabriella still has a few insecurities, I think leaving it where I did is the most realistic. Personally, as a person with a fairly large inferiority complex, the only time I ever feel better about myself is when I'm with people who love me. If I'm with someone else from school or someone I don't know very well, I can't seem to find my confidence. So that's what I did for Gabriella. **

**A huge, gigantic thank you to all the people who have reviewed every single chapter of this story from the beginning. I can't believe it started back in 2007 and today is the first day of 2010. Wow. I don't know what that says about me, but I know it says a lot about all you faithful fans of this story. I also want to thank you for the wonderful, heartening reviews I got after posting the previous chapter. It was nice to have people to relate to after getting through my depression. I tried to reply to as many as I could, but my schedule got in the way. I promise I'm going to reply to EVERY review I receive for this chapter. It will be the last time for this story, so I want to make it count.**

**On a final note, as of right now, I do not have a sequel planned for several reasons. If you are curious, feel free to ask why, but I will not bore those who could care less.**

**Happy New Year to you all. I hope you break free from society's expectations like Gabriella, and that you all find your Troy.**

**Cheers,**

**Sam**


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